Countdown to Destruction
by ghost-writer-88
Summary: The Decepticons finally have a viable plan to take Cybertron. The Autobots have a plan to stop them. Prowl and Jazz are just trying to have a semi-normal courtship. (From the Ashes 'Verse)
1. Chapter 1: Polyhex

Welcome to the next installment of the series. For first time readers this story is 4th in my G1 Autobots series, check my profile for a chronological list of the stories in this series. To my regulars, thanks for continuing to follow me and I hope you enjoy this latest bit o' fiction.

As usual, if there are any glaring errors, continuity problems, questions, or ideas y'all would like to throw in please review.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, if I did Jazz, Ironhide, and everymech else who the real owners have killed off would not have died.

* * *

 **Countdown to Destruction**

Chapter 1:

"Autobot scum! Cowardly thieves! They'll pay for this outrage!"

Clench hunkered down into the shadows and began praying to Primus for mercy. It was always dangerous to be assigned as a throne room guard in Darkmount, but a few kliks before, Shockwave had swept into the audience chamber to deliver a very dissparkening report. The ultimate secret weapon and infallibly loyal chassisguard that Shockwave had been breeding for centuries to perfect had been stolen by the Autobots. Megatron was understandably displeased. Knowing why Lord Megatron was angry did not make Clench feel any safer, especially when the first cannonblast ripped through the wall just left of the guard post.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=

It was a bittersweet homecoming for Jazz as their land-shuttle crested the last ridge before the Polyhex border base appeared. The city was still firmly under Decepticon control, but word had trickled out that the remaining natural denizens had seized the opportunity of reduced troop numbers to attempt an escape from Decepticon enslavement. An advance group of Polys had snuck out to beg the Autobots for asylum, which was why Prowl's 'inspection' convoy was detouring so close to enemy territory. Blaster had been added to the group at the last klik as well to confirm the truth or untruth of the Polys' request. It was too coincidental that the request should come now, when the population of Polyhex had always refused aid before. They had stated a battle of attrition against the 'Cons would be preferred over abandoning their underground communities to become Decepticon strongholds. When Prowl and Jazz had become better friends, he asked the native Poly why the Polyhexians would refuse shelter and protection. Jazz had replied that when one lived in an oil bog that to all other appearances was resource poor, were looked down upon as pitiful by other Cybertronians, and were generally considered to be processor-deficient for living in such poor conditions, one tended to be insular and prideful. To give up their pride and tight community would be to give up their spirit and determination; it would break them. It was so illogical, Prowl struggled to understand such a meta-set, but he still listened as Jazz described the islands and floating neighborhoods of his home with furiously broken passion. The pride and loss he heard in the saboteur's vocalizer echoed that of Prowl's feelings for Praxus, and he imagined if all he had left to himself was his pride and self-sufficiency, he too would be unwelcoming of evacuation.

The little shuttle entered the underground courtyard of the compound to be greeted by the garrison's commanding officer. Commander WideBore, a gold and blue cannon-former, greeted them with a full unit of his best soldiers as an honor guard. The commander bowed slightly to Prowl with his servo fisted over his sparkplates. It was an old gesture, one only seen used by those who had been military prior to the war. Theirs was a civilian army whose goal was to preserve culture and life so long as that preservation did not infringe on the universal right of all mechs to live free. Therefore, it was acceptable to salute in any number of ways in the Autobot army, all dependent upon a mech's locus of origin. Prowl, having been a civilian military attaché and later an enforcer, preferred the military salute himself.

When the pleasantries were concluded, WideBore took them down into the base to meet their _other_ guests. The four mech Polyhexian delegation was sequestered in an interrogation room, though none were shackled down. Prowl and Jazz approached the observation window while the rest of their group moved on to the guest quarters. It was Prowl's habit to watch first, as many criminals would become intolerant of the silence and reveal useful tidbits that could be wielded later. Unfortunately, fate had decided this would _not_ be a typical interrogation, for Jazz took one look at the delegation and let out an unholy screech from his engine. Prowl's doorwings tucked down instinctively against the sound and he turned to inquire what the problem was.

Except Jazz was not there anymore.

The Praxian heard a door clang open behind him and he looked back towards the interrogation room. Interesting, he had not been aware that an automatic sliding door could be slammed open, but, as Prowl well knew, the laws of physics did not apply to Jazz. None of the Polyhexians reacted to the door, and the sight of an incensed, heaving Jazz garnered nothing more than raised optics ridges… with the notable exception of the third member of the group. The small black, gold, and white Polyhexian jolted quite sharply at seeing Jazz's faceplates and Prowl observed that the laws of reality were apparently very bendy things as the mech managed to shrink himself enough to tuck into a ball on the seat of his chair.

"Ricochet!" Jazz growled darkly. "What in tha name o' tha Unmaker do ya think ya doin' here?! Ah oughta rip ya spark out."

The mech, Ricochet, apparently also spoke glitchmouse, if the frightened squeaks were anything to go by. Prowl contemplated intervening, but this might be the best method by which to acquire the truth.

The two uninvolved Polyhexians rose from their seats and moved to stand near the wall, clearly indicating their intent to _stay OUT_ of the situation. Jazz stalked up to Ricochet with all the predatory grace of the Special Operations assassin that he was. "So, brotha' dear, whacha got ta say fo' yaself, cuz surely ya got some sorta excuse prepped ta keep meh from killin' ya where ya sit?"

Huh, Prowl was sure that the deadly saboteur's file did not list any living relatives, but research into known Polyhexians with the given designation of Ricochet brought up a ping in the database. The known Decepticons database. Well frag. It was obvious why Jazz had never mentioned such a relation, but now Prowl had to wonder if their secret mission was exposed. His battlecomputer offered a 22% likelihood that the Decepticons knew about the planet-wide evacuation, a 35% chance it was an attempt to take the Autobot base using the Polyhexian insurgents as pawns, a 42% chance that the Decepticons were infiltrating the insurgents and the spy had taken the opportunity to double his reward, and a 1% chance it was something else.

Ricochet was speaking frantically now, so the Praxian turned his awareness outward again. "Ah'm notta 'Con no more Jazz, ah swear! Ah realized Ah was doin' wrong n' Ah left!"

Jazz did not appear impressed. "Nice try Ric, but Ah'm havin' ya locked up 'nyway."

Jazz signaled to the guards WideBore had rushed to station outside the room when it became apparent one of the Polyhexians was not on the up-and-up, and two of the mecha entered to cuff the purported 'defector'.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

Once the explosive situation was dealt with, the remaining Polyhexians were simple to approach. They allowed their identities to be thoroughly verified; being associated with a known Decepticon was not conducive to accomplishing their goals. However, as they explained, they wanted to have everything out in the open so their sincerity would be taken as genuine. Their leader, Boots, told how they had come to acquire Ricochet as one of their number.

"Tha mechlin' was a 'Con, bu' nah a bad 'Con. Dems bad'uns in tha citeh, bu' even they's didn' start tha' way. Mos' o' our citeh joined tha 'Cons earleh on, bu' they wasn' bad mecha, jus' desp'rate for a betta Cybertron. Then mecha b'gan dis-appearin' n' reappearin' a few deca's mecha looked da same, sounded da same, bu' dey didn' act da same. Mah mechlin' was one o' tha Taken. He was kind, fierce, hon'rable. Tha puppet dey sent back was cruel, a rapist, murdered a sparklin' fo' crossin' his path at da wrong time. Ah hadda put him down. Mah sparklin'. N' it was da 'Cons dat made him dat way. Ric was luckeh, he wasn' one chosen fo' tha firs' batches, so he got ta see tha scrap fo' what it was, n' he fled straight ta us. We tested him fo' vorns befo' we trusted him, but he was jus' a scared mechlin' tryin' ta get out o' a bad choice."

Boots focused on Jazz. "He's sorreh fo' what he's done."

The still-upset saboteur nodded, but said nothing.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

Once the questioning was over, Prowl transmitted the proposal to Iacon for Optimus to look over, but it was not really a concern for the chief tactician. He fully anticipated that Prime's compassion would remove a rejection from consideration unless overwhelming evidence was found to contradict the Polyhexian Resistance's claims, and Prowl was already preparing the necessary changes to the evacuation plan.

Being thusly freed from his duties, Prowl asked the question that had been burning within him the entire discussion. "It was my understanding that Polyhexians, as a whole, were very insular and not prone to accepting outside prosecution of clan members, yet you abandoned Ricochet without hesitation. Such actions are far beyond that which is feasible to claim as justifiable for full disclosure. I am curious as to why."

"It is true dat we put clan firs', n' all o' us's fo'giv'n Ric, bu' r'dem'sion 's about more'n jus' fo'giv'ness. 'S 'bout 'tonement n' r'conciliation. Sadleh, dat means Ric's on his own until _he_ asks fo' help."

Prowl nodded, the answer was logical from an emotional standpoint, and if the squirming Jazz was trying to repress was any indication, he did too.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

When they left the interrogation room, Prowl expected Jazz to leave and deal with his brother. Instead, the saboteur followed the tactician to their quarters. The group was being housed in the Primal Suite, as it was the only one large enough for all of them. Prowl would be in the master berthroom, Jazz in the attached bodyguard berthroom, and the rest in the Primal guard bunkroom. Jazz was strangely quiet the entire walk which made Prowl reluctant to let him alone. He made excuses for the both of them to their hosts, citing the long journey as having tired them so they would be undisturbed for the rest of the dark-cycle, then retired to the Primal Suite. Jazz tried to bid him a good dark-cycle, but Prowl snagged his elbow, tugging him implacably into the master berthroom's antechamber.

Once inside he pulled the smaller mech into his arms and spoke lowly into his audials. "You have been there for me through the passing of my city, the loss of my people, the discovery of my little brother, and so much more. Please, my Light, let me do the same for you."

Jazz sighed, he was not ready to discuss his brother. He had hoped that it would be vorns in the future, perhaps when the war was over, before he would have to think about his lost family. He shrugged his shoulders in pseudo-acceptance and burrowed in like a youngling trying to escape the world. "Mah brotha's a 'Con Prowler, wha' more's there ta say?"

Prowl nuzzled the top of his helm. "When family is involved, nothing is ever so cut and dry."

Jazz huffed. "Fine, but if we're doin' this Ah wanna eat firs'… n' maybe some highgrade fo' afta."

Prowl acquiesced and settled his courtmate on the couch with a big fluffy mesh. The Praxian moved over to the in-suite dispenser and pulled two rations and two ener-teas. Jazz might desire highgrade, but it would not help the saboteur deal with the issues at servo. Prowl seasoned their cubes and returned to his beloved. A corner of the plush mesh was lifted to allow him to join the lump of Polyhexian; a lump that snuggled into his side as soon as he was comfortably seated. Jazz claimed his meal and began consuming it _very_ slowly.

Prowl rolled his optics. "Delaying only means more time that you have to think about all this."

Shrinking was apparently a family trait, as Jazz all but disappeared into the mesh. "Well, contrareh ta whacha might be thinkin', there is no tragic backstoreh ta meh n' mah brotha'. We're twins in tha aspect o' bein' a double sparking n' were raised in'a good home wit' lovin' creators. As we grew howevah, we realized tha' tha world didn' have a place fo' ambitious, but low-caste, creations of a pair o' wire weavahs. Ah learned from mah carrier ta see tha little joys in functionin' n' ta work mah way up slower so Ah didn' catch tha optic o' tha Functionists or tha nobles. Ric though, he always chafed. He wan'ed ta have open doors ta pursue his dreams, not half-locked windows ta sneak through when tha caste-keepahs weren' lookin'. Then our carrier passed inta tha Well n' took our sire wit' him. We… uh, we kinda, mighta hadta become purloiners o' otha mecha's stuff ta survive." Jazz looked up at Prowl uneasily.

Prowl arched an optic ridge at Jazz's insecurity and replied dryly. "Oh, woe is me. My courtmate used to be a thief, a criminal. How can I ever look at him in lust again? He was pardoned by the Prime himself, but I, as a duly sworn former enforcer, cannot abide by even past infractions. Woe. Woe is me."

Jazz giggled and continued. "Ah didn' kno' ya knew tha' 'bout meh. *Ahem*, anehway, we had a policy ta onleh steal what we needed ta survive n' tha's it. But as time moved on Ric became resentful o' wha' we hadta do jus' ta eat n' have'a room ovah our helms. He was such a good mech. He'd take an extra job or two ta feed tha street sparks n' elderleh, but he was so angreh.

"Then tha 'Cons came along sayin' everythin' he evah wan'ed ta hear. Ah couldn't talk him out o' joinin'. Tha'Cons took Polyhex cuz o' tha; mos' every mech in Polyhex was like mah Ric. He was a fav'rite o' tha local commander so he w's kept out o' tha darkah side o' tha 'Cons, but Ah hadda bad feelin' in mah tanks, so Ah investigated. Ah saw things Ah ain' nevah wanna see 'gain, but good as Ah was even then, Ah was noticed. Ah tried ta get Ric ta escape wit' meh, but he didn' believe meh n' we hadda huge fight, n' tha 'Cons noticed, n' noticed tha' Ah looked like tha mech they w's lookin' fo', n' Ah hadda escape. Ah made it ta Altihex, joined tha Autobots wit' tha info Ah nabbed, n' tol' everyone Ah was an orphan wit' no family, none tha' would own ta meh anehway."

Prowl hummed. "Do you believe he has changed?"

Jazz shrugged. "Ah don' kno'. He didn' seem like tha same angreh mechlin' Ah hadta leave behind, but Ah don' know."

"If he is sincere, what will you do?" this was murmured lowly, with no judgement in the tone.

Again, Jazz shrugged. "Ah used ta be angreh wit' him. But afta so long Ah've jus' become sad. Ah'm happeh jus' ta see tha' he's alive, n' mebbe a neutral, but Ah don' know how ta be around him anehmore. Ah mean, we've become so diff'rent!"

Prowl snuggled him in close to nuzzle Jazz's droopy sensor horns. "Oh my Light, you take it one moment at a time and you will learn to be brothers again. If you feel the need for a buffer at any point, bring one of your friends or adopted family with you."

Jazz looked up. "Would ya come wit' meh?"

"I would be delighted to meet my future brother-in-bond."

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

Despite having Prowl's support, Jazz waited a full orn before dealing with his brother. He played it off as needing to get the mission done, but the SIC knew the truth. Jazz nearly delayed his visit a second orn, but the guards had reported hearing sounds of crying from the cell. They also reported that, though the prisoner seemed calm when they checked, he was increasingly despondent. Before going in himself, Jazz reviewed the security footage, but was reminded how Ricochet was as naturally prone to subterfuge as himself, even when it was just emotions he was hiding. His little brother had found the one spot in the cell where his faceplates could not be seen by any camera angle. This made Jazz suspicious; was Ricochet playing it up for sympathy, or was he sincerely distressed? There was only one way to find out…

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

When Ricochet was first deposited in the Autobot brig cell he was completely unperturbed. This was standard Autobot procedure, and he knew that his brother would not let him be tortured. At least he hoped Jazz still cared enough to give him such protection. Ricochet tried to banish such worrisome thoughts, Jazz had been angry with him, but his brother had always forgiven him before, no matter what stupid trouble he got involved with.

The black and gold Polyhexian maintained his optimism in this manner until the next morning. He expected his brother to stew for the dark-cycle then confront him at first light. When that did not happen and Jazz showed no sign that he even remembered he had a brother in the dungeon, Ricochet began to falter.

At first he paced, arguing with himself that Jazz would not leave his dear little brother to rot, but gave up when he found himself counter-arguing with the less than congenial way they had parted after Polyhex fell. Thinking about the vitriol he had cast at his brother, the only living family he had left, had him collapsing in a despondent pile of parts on the slab of a berth.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

Jazz glided in on silent peds, every system running stealth protocols and an extra block on the dormant sibling bond. While the saboteur did not need to avoid the cameras, he did need to evade any passive scan his brother might be using to time his crying bouts. Jazz could already hear the sniffles and hushed, hiccupping gasps. He rechecked that his baffles and silencers were still running at optimum. He made the turn to the antechamber for the isolation cell they had chosen for the suspected Decepticon and nodded in approval at the digit-width floor vents. There would be no escaping that way. During their thieving orns Ricochet had been just as good as Jazz at sneaking around through tiny vent systems, but the Autobots had to cassette-proof _their_ bases.

Jazz positioned himself so he could observe his brother freely. Whether the sobbing was genuine remained to be see.

The longer Ricochet sobbed the more ragged his venting became, which in itself was a point in his favor; fake crying had no such effect on the ventilation system. Eventually, he seemed to be gearing himself up for something, a supposition that was proven true when Ricochet rolled shakily to his peds and turned to the observation window. The black and gold Poly had tear tracks all over his cheek plates and dried tear stains of varying ages underneath that. That could have been seen as just part of the ploy, but Jazz could see the marks where Ricochet had tried to scrub them away. While Ricochet had always been a good actor, he had never been one for the details; that was always Jazz's portion of a job.

"Um," the imprisoned mech began with a waver. "Um, is anyone there?"

Jazz contemplated revealing himself, but he wanted to see what his brother intended.

"Hello, anybody out there?" he said louder. "Ah need ta talk ta brother please! It's important!"

Jazz waited some more. He knew perfectly well that Prowl had reassigned the guards so that the twins could have this little chat in private. He was wondering how his brother would take being ignored at this apparent turning point in his self-confidence. Ricochet began to wilt as the silence continued until he crumpled down onto the berth and buried his helm in his knees.

Jazz decided it was sufficient to trust the actions were authentic and stepped into visual range of the laser-grid door. "Ya kno' Ah always wondered wha it would take ta get ya ta leave, but ya was so sure o' yaself n' ya path wit' tha Cons. Ah mourned ya. Like ya was dead. Now ya wan' meh ta jus' fo'give ya n' pretend it all nevah happened."

Ricochet had shot up, startled, as soon as Jazz began speaking, hope evident in his optics. That hope died with each word from Jazz's vocalizer. He shuffled forlornly towards the bars. "Ah'm sorreh Jazz, Ah don' got nothin' else Ah c'n say. Tha 'Cons offered meh ever'thin'. Ah jus'… Ah ain' got no excuses, Ah kno' tha'! But Polyhex was supposed ta be safe! Then they started using our people as playthin's, for target practice, gang bangin', n' worse. Then tha reprogrammin'. The Polyhex 'Cons protested the mistreatment o' those we joined ta protect, Ah c'n at leas' say Ah was one o'em, n' in return tha 'Con leadahship tol' us tha' we would be heard in a group audience in Kaon. Ah was elected ta stay behind ta make sure tha leadahship wouldn' try somethin' wit' tha civvies behind our backs. It's tha onleh reason Ah escaped. Tha others came back, dif'rent. Cruel, cold, not carin' tha our civvies was trash ta tha 'Cons… Ah left before someone snitched tha Ah'd been missed in tha 'corrective measures'. Ah couldn' get out o' Polyhex anehmore, so Ah was hidin' in tha lower levels, n' Ah accidentally stumbled 'cross tha Resistance group. It took vorns fo' them ta trus' meh, but Ah've been fightin' as one o' them evah since. Ah'm sorreh Jazz, so very sorreh fo' not lis'nen ta ya!"

"Ah kno' y'are Ric, but Ah gotta 'ntire faction dependin' on meh ta protect'm from 'Con threats, n' Ah gotta prove wit'out a shadow o' a doubt tha ya ain' one." Jazz replied as he moved to lean against the wall.

"What do ya wan' meh ta say?! Ah mean it Jazz, Ah ain' a 'Con anehmore! They been huntin' meh fo' vorns now, ya c'n ask tha others!"

Jazz shrugged. "Can't prove tha' ain' jus' a trap ya 'Con buddies set up ta make ya seem genuine."

Ricochet slammed his fist against the berth in frustration. "Jazz! Come'on bro, if ya don' give meh a chance, ain' nobody gonna! Ya realleh hate meh so much ya wan' meh ta die?!"

Jazz maintained an outward appearance of being unaffected. "Ya wanna prove ya serious?"

"Yes!"

Jazz smirked at the exasperation in that single word. "K, then what we'll do is put ya in stasis, ship ya ta an undisclosed location n' let ya serve parole under heavy Autobot guard, prolyl 'til tha end o' tha war."

Ricochet wilted. He stared in devastation at the floor. He looked up at Jazz, then down at his servos, seeing, not for the first time, all the energon that covered them. He laughed mirthlessly. "Idn'it sad how one realleh bad decision c'n cost ya yer life? Sometimes it don' even need ta kill ya ta do it eitha."

Ricochet stared up into Jazz's visor. "If it wasn' ya askin' Ah'd be balkin' so hard agains' this, but cuz it's ya, bro, Ah accept. Anehthin' ta redeem mahself in ya optics."

Then he voluntarily initiated a stasis cascade.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=

As soon as Ricochet dropped Jazz leapt forward, frantically ripping through the firewalls guarding the door controls as he hacked them into dropping the bars. It was faster than going through the lengthy opening protocols Red Alert insisted be used on all brigs. Jazz's ops protocols were pinging him urgently that this could be a trap to get him to release the prisoner, but he ignored them. That was _his_ _brother_ in there and there was no way in Pit he was going to allow his brother to suffer an unmonitored shutdown; mechs had deactivated from such foolishness. Jazz reached his now prone brother and plugged into medical port. He acknowledged the brief message from Prowl that a medical team was on the way and began monitoring his brother's descent into stasis.

Already he could see several errors in the cascade and he moved to correct them as fast as he could. H heard the door open behind him and he moved aside to allow the medic room beside him. The white medic plugged in and piggybacked on Jazz's connection to his brother's psyche. The saboteur showed the medic what he had already fixed and made the changeover so he could extricate himself.

When Jazz came out he could see the three technicians running diagnostic scans and hooking up various mobile monitors. Blaster was standing in the observation room waiting for him. It was not until the hostmech had enveloped him in a hug that Jazz realized he was shaking.

"Ah wasn' expectin' that." Jazz said faintly.

Blaster grimaced. "If he'd waited a few more kliks Prowl an' Ah were gonna comm ya that he was clean."

Jazz whimpered and buried his helm against the strong sparkbeat under his audial.

"Ah know it won't help much at this point," Blaster continued. "But he wasn' lyin'. Ah delved as deep as Ah could wit'out bein' in physical contact wit' him an' there was no sleeper programmin' or any o' Sounder's taint."

It did not, in fact, help at all with Jazz's guilt, but his ops protocols were pleased by the outcome. Objectively, the saboteur was satisfied that he could send a positive report to his superiors concerning the suspected spy, even as his brotherly half keened at what he had done to his last remaining family member.

The medical team had finished stabilizing Ricochet and were moving him out of the cell, so Jazz left the emotional safety of his best friend's hug, whom he really should offer an amica bond, to follow his brother. His duties as an Autobot were satisfied, it was time to fulfill his familial duties to his twin.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

Ricochet drifted up slowly from the world of dark that had consumed him. He emerged into one of bright light and soothing white walls. He shuttered his optics a few times as adjusted to the higher light levels. Ricochet was puzzled, it did not feel like any time had passed, and that was confirmed when he looked around and spotted his brother. Jazz was speaking with a hot black and white Praxian who appeared to have the hots _for_ his twin. Ricochet's bleary meta suggested that such was an interesting happenstance that needed investigation. He tried to turn a little to hear their conversation, but his motor functions had not fully rebooted yet. He must have made some sort of noise in the attempt though, because Jazz's visor snapped his direction with laser focus.

Ricochet froze.

It was like coming under target lock by a dozen of the nastiest Decepticons he had ever met. That,… that was an amazingly _angry_ look. Jazz was _pissed_.

With frantic self-preservation born of vorns of evading angry ex-comrades, Ricochet tried to bully his motor functions into operation. Unfortunately, Primus had granted Jazz the preternatural ability to read other mecha, and he noticed what Ricochet was doing and _pounced_. Ricochet let out an energon curdling shriek of fright, which, hey!, vocalizer was working!, and tried to roll away from the Unmaker's Herald leaping through the air towards his throat.

He did _not_ make it.

The pit-hound, formerly known a Jazz, landed on his abdomen and grabbed his throat with barely restrained claws. Through his panic Ricochet dimly registered that was not, in fact, being eviscerated, and that Jazz sounded rather panicked himself.

"… do ya not kno' ya coulda killed yasself?! Were ya tryin' ta give meh a spark-attack?! Ya ain' nevah 'llowed ta try tha' again, ya hear meh?! Nevah! Mah spark 'bout gave out when Ah saw ya drop, n' then havin' ta hack ya ta save ya, n'… n'… Do ya kno' how maneh glitches Ah had ta save ya from ta keep ya idiot self from accidentally self-offlinin'?! Nine! Nine glitches tha' woulda killed ya!"

Jazz huffed and puffed atop Ricochet's chassis and the gold and black mech boggled at his brother. "Tha's funny considerin' how not concerned ya was in tha cell-block!"

Jazz let go of his brother's cervical column and sat back sadly. "Ric, Ah'm an Ops officer, it's mah duteh ta question defectors. As ya brotha, Ah believed ya tha firs' time ya said ya w's sorreh, but mah superiors weren' gonna accept tha' as proper validation n' prolly woulda sent someone else ta interrogate ya, n' they wouldn'a been nice about it. Ah did what did ta prove what Ah alreadeh knew in mah spark."

Surprisingly, Ricochet thought he could understand that, and it was almost nothing to forgive in comparison to the reconciliation he himself had asked for. "So, do they believe meh now?"

The sound of frustration Jazz let out sounded like the skreel of a rotor stripping.

"Tha's all you care about?!" Jazz began, shaking Ricochet back and forth. "Ya almos' died! Ya an idiot, bolts-fo'-meta…"

Jazz took a sharp in-vent and sat in silence, panting to cool his overheating frame. When Ricochet's vision cleared he saw that the hot Praxian had intervened and was stroking Jazz's helm and sensor horns whilst thrumming in the most soothing manner.

When Jazz was calm he leaned down to press his forehelm over his twin's spark. "Yes Ric, they believe ya. Ya're actualleh bein' offered a choice. Ya c'n stay a neutral n' be 'vacuated wit' tha other Poly's, or ya c'n become an Autobot."

Ricochet picked up the helm stroking that the Praxian had ceased. "How'd ya convince ya higher ups ta accept meh so fast?"

Jazz turned his helm and snickered. "Prowler here called in a telepath ta verify ya while Ah was wit' ya."

"So yer beau used his influence ta get meh a pass. Nice Jazz!"

Now Jazz was really laughing and 'Prowler' had the most perplexed look on his faceplates.

The saboteur's visor twinkled as he met his brother's optics. "Ric, Prowl's the _SIC_."

The gold and black mech felt his optics widen to the limits of their shutters, but the physical evidence of his shock was lost on him while he fell into the realization that he had been ogling the rusted Second in Command of the Entire, Farking, Autobot Army! The mech that made Decepticons quake when his baritone vocalizations echoed across the battlefield. Survivors of battles that the SIC had directed described him as a cold-sparked, ruthless mech. Officers who faced him both cursed Prowl''s name and commented that he would make a fantastic Decepticon.

Why? Why would his brother let such a mech court him?

Well, there was only one way to make sure his older brother was not being abused or blackmailed.

"Ah wanna become an Autobot."

=.=.=.=.=.=.=

Dealing with his brother was way more stress than Jazz had planned to deal with on this trip. The saboteur had this grandiose plan to use the unique features of each location they visited to romance Prowl off his peds. Having his brother show up was making that first date impossible to accomplish. He had absolutely no energy left now to even _consider_ setting up a date. He opened the door to his temporary quarters and stumbled over to his berth, visor already offline, and flopped down like a toppling crystal. Which is how he discovered that somemech had left a datapad on his berth… with his face.

Miraculously, the padd was not broken, which told the saboteur who had left it. A certain high-level tactician had terribly bad penchant for flipping desks and throwing datapads whenever he was especially angry. Therefore, said mech had commissioned Wheeljack to make him armored pads with glassteel screens.

Jazz sat up and flicked on the screen.

All it held was a level number and an authorization code for the lift. Jazz cocked his helm. Granted Prowl had excused himself from the medbay well in advance of Jazz, but what kind of situation could have cropped up that quickly that would have Prowl communicating so cryptically. Curiosity filling his spark, the saboteur groaningly arose from his berth and trudged back out to see what his courtmate needed.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

The lift pinged cheerily at Jazz with every subfloor it passed and the saboteur wondered, with no little irritation, how the regular inhabitants of the base put up with it.

Jazz side-opticked the control panel.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

When the lift opened on the 8th subfloor the cheerful ' _Bingle_ , _Bingle'_ was gone. Instead it played a particularly complex aria from a popular old horror film that Jazz had decided was appropriate for the lowest level of the base. Greatly cheered by his own ingenuity, the Polyhexian sauntered off to find his Prowler.

It did not take long. The mech in question was just around the corner patiently reading a datapad. Jazz could not help but notice how svelte the Praxian looked. He practically gleamed with fresh polish. What in Primus' name was going on down here to warrant such a shine? Now highly suspicious, Jazz finished his approach into the Praxian's line of sight.

Prowl looked up and smiled softly.

"Ah Jazz, just on time." He said as he subspaced his padd. "If you will follow me, the problem is just this way."

Jazz moved to walk beside his Praxian. "So ya was bein' kinda secretive in ya message. Wha's so delicate tha' ya need an opsmech fo' it down here?"

Prowl smiled a tiny smug, mischievous thing that was there and gone before the saboteur could truly claim it existed. The Praxian led him through a door into a rather rough looking corridor. With a sharp double-take, realized he was looking at the substrata the underground base was imbedded in. He was unaware of any Polyhexian tunnels having been mapped in the area, so the set they were traveling through must have been both natural and not very extensive. Jazz wondered if perhaps an accidental connection had been made between this unguarded backdoor and one of Polyhex's tributaries. It would explain the need for a saboteur in lieu of a proper demolitions expert, as well as one who was a Polyhex native.

Polyhex, for all that it looked like floating towers and townlets, its true polity lay underground. Jazz wrapped his arm around his Prowler's waist assembly and snuggled in. "When we get finished investigatin' down here n' get some good 'charge n' defrag, Ah'm kidnappin' ya n' we gonna go do sumthin' romantic."

Prowl did not say anything, and when Jazz glanced up he could see that his Praxian looked faintly uneasy.

"Um, Prowler, Ah kno' Ah'm 'sposed ta not be overtly assertive, but ya'd tell meh if Ah got too alpha-ish, right?"

Prowl glanced over sheepishly. "I prefer you just the way you are. I… I have never been a normal prathama and I find your atypical bija behaviors endearing and comforting."

Jazz nudged in a bit closer. "While Ah'm glad ta hear tha', wha's settin' ya off then?"

Prowl coughed. "I may have accidentally received a datapad detailing a romantic encounter for one Praxian and one Polyhexian to take place on the overlook of a certain military base."

Jazz smacked his helm, he had wondered where that padd had gotten off too. Prowl was not finished though. "And when it became apparent that the advent of your brother's defection would prevent you from accomplishing your plan, I took steps."

"N' part o' ya plan was getting' meh ta come wi'out meh knowin' what was goin' on. Which means there's not realleh a problem down here is there."

Prowl smiled faintly.

They entered a room with rough-hewn walls and Jazz's jaw dropped in delight. Inside the room was a natural hot oil spring pouring from the wall and bubbling up from the floor, filling the basin-like room. An architect had obviously been brought in on the project as the grotto had been turned into a spa with carved seats, mood lighting, and semi-private nooks.

It was to one of these that Jazz was directed. He could see treats and what looked like contraband Polyhexian highgrade. The saboteur had no words. No one ever would have considered that Prowl could be so romantic and it made Jazz's spark feel like it was overflowing with love. Prowl settled him into the luxury of the oil and the Polyhexian melted into the soothing heat. Prowl settled next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Ya tha mos' wonderful thing that ever happened ta meh, ya kno' that?"

Prowl blushed up beautifully, but said nothing.

"N' while Ah'd like nothin' mo' than ta snuggle wit'cha til Ah fall asleep, Ah think Ah need ta ask ya some stuff 'bout tha courtin' thing."

Prowl looked at him. "I will answer whatever I can."

"K, so, Solaris n' Windblade 've told meh enough o' what't means ta be a bija ta get meh started, but Ah kno' it ain' in mah codin' tah be a completeleh submissive little mate. So, Ah need ta kno' what ya expect from meh. Ya said ya like my 'ssertiveness, is'zat normal for a prathama? N' how much is too much? Where do ya 'spect meh ta yield ta ya in tha relationship, n' where c'n Ah be free ta take lead?"

Prowl hesitated to answer. To truly be honest with Jazz he would have to tell him about Sentinel, and he was not sure he was ready for that yet. Perhaps he could tell the bare facts of it and leave out the more painful details?

"You are right about the normalness of my acceptance, I am not a typical prathama." He began slowly, hesitantly. "I,… I actually was a bija once. My first courtship was with a mech who pretended kindness but became abusive. I was unable to escape him for several centuries and once I did I was nearly irreparably damaged mentally. "Prowl took a bracing vent. "Smokescreen and one of his psychologist friends worked for vorns to help me heal. The long duration of the abuse caused my spark to subvert the bija coding. The dormant prathama coding then surfaced to fill the void."

Jazz draped himself over Prowl's shoulder so he could hold his servo with his right servo and stroke his erratically twitching doorwings with the other.

Prowl's vocalizer hitched, but he was determined now to finish this. "It was a normal side-effect for cases of extreme abuse of a bija. We, those like me, were considered too passive to be true prathama, but too aggressive for a bija. Medically we are labeled tatastha, which means 'neutral' in Iaconian Standard, although we are publicly called prathama. Those who recover from the abuse are more likely to end up in a trine bond with a prathama and a bija."

"Hmm," Jazz hummed. "One o' each ta balance their neutrality?"

Prowl nodded. "Yes, it is difficult for a tatastha to provide enough strength of will to make a bija feel safe, nor is a tatastha able to submit enough to satisfy as prathama."

Prowl waited with bated vents for Jazz's reaction, but Jazz did nothing more than continue to stroke Prowl's servo and doorwing. Prowl's battlecomputer informed him that there was a 76% chance Jazz would call off the courtship do to Prowl's 'unsuitability'. His battlecomputer suggested that it would be less emotionally painful if he broke it off first; at least he would not have to hear the empty platitudes. It was not a viable options though, Prowl would rather have his spark broken than ever see a look of pain on his Jazz's faceplates. Perhaps he could explain more and raise the percentages of a favorable outcome.

Prowl opened his mouth to speak, lips trembling in distress, when Jazz finally spoke. "Ah'm sorreh Prowler, tha' aneh mech would think treatin' ya tha' way's in aneh way acceptable. Ya probable wise not ta tell meh who it was tha' done it cuz Ah guarantee they'd be top o' mah hit list, but if ya evah feel ya need ta talk about wha' happened, Ah promise Ah'll listen n' hold ya til ya bettah, though don' get upset if Ah gotta disappear fo' a bit afta tha' ta work off a couple murderous intentions."

Prowl was frozen. There was a 0.00023% chance of Jazz doing something unexpected.

"N' while Ah'm not 'xactly opposed ta havin' a second lover, c'n we wait a cent'ry or two before we try ta court a third fo' our bond?"

That… was not even in the realm of expected responses. In fact, Prowl's battlecomputer was alternating between furious overcompensation and stark silence in response to this mech that kept smashing its predictions to pieces. "You… do not fault me for my inadequacies?"

Jazz stopped petting him and raised his helm from where he had it tucked in the crook of Prowl's neck to give him the most flabbergasted look. "Prowler! How are ya in aneh way inadequate?!"

Prowl looked away. "I am not a real prathama, I cannot champion you properly."

Jazz blinked. "What?"

"Such a wonderful bija could not possibly be happy with such a flawed prathama."

Jazz growled low in his chassis and pulled himself up through the oil until he could straddle Prowl's lap. Then he framed his Praxian's helm with his servos so he could not look away. "Prowl, Ah am not a bija, Ah tailor mah actions tah fit ya culture as best Ah can cuz Ah love ya. But from ya culture's standpoint nearly all Cybertronians, mahself included, would register as tatastha! Can't two tatastha enjoy a full n' fulfillin' bond wit'out conformin' ta tha prathama n' bija standard?"

Prowl looked at Jazz in wonder that such a mech could love him. So bright and beautiful. Such a marvelous intuitive lateral thinker. "I have no empirical evidence to support the concept, but I do not see how you could be wrong."

Jazz smiled and pressed their forehelms together before settling back down onto his seat and snuggling in as he had before. "Good, then if ya don' mind, Ah'm gonna sit here wit' mah amazing lover an' enjoy tha super romantic date he planned fo' us."

Prowl smiled back and reached for the plate of goodies and highgrade. He was so lucky to have found such a mate.


	2. Chapter 2: Iacon

Whoo-hoo! I finally get to post a new chapter!

Goodness gracious, I have totally felt like a guinea pig for Murphy's Law lately. So, my boss runs two departments for the company I work for, and a few months ago one of two full-time employees for the second department quit so he could _go overseas and court his girlfriend for 3 months!_ Romantic, I know. So, that meant my boss tapped me to cover the shifts necessary to keep the other department going on top of my owns shifts. It wasn't too bad, I was able to keep writing and all. Then, wait for it, the second full-time employee committed a huge snafu and quit before they could be fired. Guess who got tapped to cover those shifts too? Yup, me. Yay for overtime and awesome paychecks, boo for being so exhausted that I could barely change clothes before I fell into bed. Finally, we were able to hire a single new full-timer and get her trained 3 weeks ago. Between her and I, we have the extra shifts covered and I have gotten some rest.

Warnings: this time I am reserving the warnings until the end of the chapter because it will spoil the chapter. Rest assured there are no trigger items within.

* * *

Chapter 2:

Meanwhile, back in Iacon…

Bluestreak was so very excited! Six orns ago Optimus Prime had come to visit and brought Uncle Ratchet with him. They had spoken to Bluestreak and his brothers about his upcoming upgrade, which was very exciting! He would become a fourth frame youngling in three metacycles and finally get to start doing grown-up stuff! Prime had asked him what he thought he might like to start studying as his adult specialization and Bluestreak had been ready with his answer. He wanted to be a soldier. Smokey and Prowl had protested fiercely, he was too young to pick such a profession, all he knew of it were the glamorized portions, it would remind him of the abuse of his ex-trine. But Bluestreak was determined; he _would_ have the skills to protect his family, he _would_. Prime and his brothers managed to negotiate a compromise he could live with, he would be trained as a soldier, but he would also be exposed to as many alternate professions as could be found in the Autobot repertoire until he selected a secondary, non-combat, specialty.

Uncle Ironhide and the twins elected to chat a bit when they heard about the upcoming graduation and were going to begin his basic training immediately. It was why Blue was so excited! The twins had picked him up for the afterzenith, but instead of taking him to his art class they were smuggling him into the Armory's training complex.

Bluestreak giggled. Sideswipe was humming his own mission music and clinging to the walls like a cybertriop, while Sunstreaker had the youngling tucked under his arm like a lob ball and checking around corners like a spy in an old holofilm. Bluestreak giggled again and Sunstreaker shushed him.

The small mobile communicator Bluestreak carried hissed to life. "The carrier hen is heading your way, Tracks accidentally tipped him off. Also, stop skulking around. It's making my suspicion algorithms itch."

Sideswipe pouted and pointedly did not stop. "Aw Red, you know we're just trying to keep you sharp and vigilant!"

There was a snort from the other side of the comm. "Trying to drive me into an early grave more like."

Sunstreaker winked down at Bluestreak then poked the proverbial cyberphant in the aft. "If you hate us so much, why are you helping us?"

Silence.

The twins shared evil grins.

"What was that Red? We couldn't hear you." Sideswipe goaded.

A growl came from the speaker. "Because you know as well as I do what a security risk it is to have civilian younglings on a military base. The sooner they get trained, the better."

The twins rolled their optics. It was a stock answer straight from the security analysis coding, but they let it slide. They themselves had witnessed the loving protectiveness that Red Alert had lavished on the Praxian sparkling. The twins never commented or teased him. Especially not after finding out that they were now Ironhide's wards due to their reassessed legal age as of four orn ago. They had rushed to Ratchet in an outrage, only to be given a decided lack of sympathy, and a stern lecture on guardian protocols and all the ways those would affect their formerly free-range lifestyle.

"Okay, take the corridor to your left and enter the second door on the right." The Security Director instructed.

Two frontliners and a still softly giggling youngling hastened quickly to the location before the pursuing overprotective brother could catch them. They ducked into the indicated storage closet and went completely silent. Even Bluestreak had a servo over his own mouth to stifle the noises of amusement that he simply could not cease making.

They heard heavy pedsteps pound down the hall and stop just past their hideaway. There was a long silence where they dared not even move, then a binary skreel of frustration was heard and the pedsteps moved onward.

The trio quickly exited the closet and ran back the way they came. With Red Alert's help they made it safely all the way to the Armory. Once inside Ironhide locked the door with a Prime-level override code. Most mecha forgot it was part of his purview as chassis-guard to the Prime to possess such a code and should delay Smokescreen at least as long as it would take the Praxian to find the conveniently missing Prime.

Inside the training complex at last, Sunstreaker set Bluestreak down to greet his other friends. It was absolutely adorable to watch the bitty Praxian tackle-hug the tiny minibot and little seekerling. Sunstreaker had to look away before his bad-aft rep was ruined by rumors of sappy smiles. He felt a wave of melancholy from the other side of his bond. ::Sides?::

::Were we ever that carefree Sunny?::

Sunstreaker looked back down at the tiny trio babbling to one another in half sentences as they updated one another on everything that might have happened in the last orn. ::No, we weren't… It's not fair is it.::

Sideswipe leaned his shoulder against his sparktwin. ::It makes me feel horrible to take even a small bit of that away from him, them.::

Sunstreaker looked at him. ::We are NOT Crunch, these are not the pits. We won't need to subject them to what we went through.::

::I'm sorta jealous. I used to dream about being a regular sparkling.:: Sideswipe hesitated. ::This won't mess that up for them will it?::

::I… I don't think so. We're just gonna teach 'em the basics. 'Hide says fourth frames get taught that stuff normally, we're just jumping the throttle a few decacycles.::

Their conversation had only taken a few nanokliks and when they came out of the bond Ironhide was just gathering their three charges together for Gun Safety 101.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ironhide surveyed his little kingdom. As a matter of course he had separated the seekerling from the other sparklings, for while Sunstorm had excellent control suppressing his Sigma gift, he had almost no control when wielding it. So Ironhide placed him in a containment room with the instructions to create a ball of radiation plasma in his servos without melting the combat drones surrounding him. So far the seekerling had melted fourteen drones and created not even a flicker of plasma.

When the fifteenth drone keeled over in a puddle of its own metals Sunstorm threw up his servos in frustration. "Im never gonna do it right! Uncle 'Hide I don't think this is gonna work! The purple mech always told me I was an 'unstopp'ble force of total d'strucshun. I'm not sure what that means, but I'm pretty sure it means I _can't_ control myself!" he whined.

Ironhide smirked. "Youngling, Ah've trained dozens of mechlings just lahk yuh, an naught one of 'em thought they could ever do what Ah told'em they could. Made it funney when each an' every one of 'em succeeded."

Sunstorm folded his chubby little arms and affixed the older mech with a skeptical look. "Are you sure?"

"Ah'm sure." Ironhide chuckled. "Nawh start again, an' this time feel yahr power, find its source, an' _pull_ it where ya wont it ta go."

Sunstorm flopped his arms and wings forward. "Fine…"

Ironhide could not help but smile at the petulance. He then turned his attention to the training mats where the twins were teaching Cosmos and Bluestreak the opening stances of Diffusion. Ironhide could tell that Sunstreaker was pulling from his twin's knowledge but it was quite sufficient for the level being taught. The Armory Master made a note that the twins were remarkably good instructors despite their youth and resolved to give them more such opportunities.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Optimus Prime sat back in his very comfy chair in his _very_ important meeting in his very private receiving room with his two very old bosom friends, and pretended that his door chime was not ringing its way out of the wall.

When Ironhide had come to him about arranging combat training early for the Autobots' three bitlets, Prime had been apprehensive. While he knew the seekers were fine with training, and were, in fact, encouraging it, Prowl and Smokescreen were less than enthused. Which is why Ironhide had arranged for Elita and Magnus to visit for an 'important strategy meeting'. That the meeting was taking place in his private quarters and consisted mostly of highgrade consumption and swapping funny stories of their mechs had absolutely no impact on the validity of the meeting.

None.

At all.

Really!

It had absolutely nothing to do with hiding from the one remaining adult Praxian on base. Especially since it had not worked and said angry Praxian was currently outside his door _leaning_ on the entry buzzer in some sadistic form of psychological warfare. Optimus was trying valiantly to ignore it, but Elita and Magnus kept looking at the door giggling.

"Surely you are not afraid of one little doorwinger my Prime?" Magnus jested.

Optimus frowned. "You laugh, but it is not _your_ energon he is after, Dion."

Ultra Magnus and ElitaOne shared a look of significance, and then, before Optimus could stop their plotting, Elita leapt up and _opened_ the door!

Betrayed by his friends, Prime hopped up to put the chair between the half-deranged blue and red winged blur and himself. Only when the blur resolved itself into a mostly coherent Smokescreen did he step back into the circle of furniture Smokescreen's optics locked onto his movements, but the Praxian did not speak as he was too busy regaining control of his heaving chassis vents.

"Smokescreen? Unless it is an emergency, I am afraid that all upper level command issues are being redirected to Blackshot as I am taking a personal day." Optimus stated in vain hope. However, by the glint in Smokescreen's optic, Prime realized he had tried appealing to the propriety of the wrong mech; Smokescreen had none.

"Sorry Prime. But only you will do. Your chassis-guard has my little brother locked up in his training complex and you're gonna help me get him back!"

Optimus Prime, Leader of the Autobots, Herald of Primus, Bearer of Ultimus, the Matrix of Leadership, slumped in defeat.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ironhide strolled behind his tiny lineup of shooters. They had gone over the basics of gun safety until the little mechs could repeat it back word for word, a feat he had accomplished by having the mechlings pretend to teach one another. It was slagging adorable. In fact, Ironhide was seriously considering having the bitlets teach his next batch of recruits, and would have to remember to record that session for posterity. Ironhide had also taken the precaution of modifying the miniature firearms to a setting so low it would barely leave a plasma residue, much less any kind of burn or damage. They were all lined up at their firing stations, the most fearsome little expressions one their faceplates. Ironhide saved a few image captures, and nodded in approval.

He gave the order to commence firing.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Optimus Prime strode down the hall, shoulders back and helm up, the very epitome of regal dignity. His mecha would never know any different… until they looked at the mech behind him.

The Praxian stalking behind Prime looked like an agent of the Unmaker with his chevron tilted forward to show the sharpened tips and wings up and forward at a victorious angle. Occasionally, the Prime attempted to stop and check in with various mecha. When he did, a blue digit would slowly rise behind him in warning, but Prime would usually ignore it. Poke! The digit would unerringly find as tender seam to jab through, making Prime jump or flinch despite bracing for it. The inevitable embarrassment, or repeat pokes, would cause him to swiftly terminate the conversation and move on.

Eventually the door to the Armory Complex loomed large in front of them, but before Optimus could enter his override, the door sprang open. A manic looking Ironhide was brought up short at the sight of his thoroughly cowed Prime, the triumphant diversionary tactician, the drunkenly giggling ElitaOne, and the super stoic but-desperately-desiring-to-laugh Magnus.

Ironhide blinked. "Ah don't wanna know. Prime! Get yer aft in with the littles an' show 'em that small cannon yah call a rifle while Ah have a chat with Smokey here."

"No!" Smokescreen cried with a mulish look. "No more guns, more combat training, my brother is too little and you have no right to override me on this!"

Ironhide sighed, seized Smokescreen's servo, and yanked him down the hall to his office before the Praxian could do more than flail an arm.

Optimus stood there, optics widened to the limits of their apertures, and wondering what in Primus debris chute just happened. He lingered with his barely coherent friends too in his stupor, for the slammed automatic door slid open again and an imperious black hand attached to a red arm pointed in the direction of the shooting range. The door slammed again.

Gathering his much tattered dignity around him, Optimus meekly obeyed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ironhide sat down in his chair heavily and sighed in relief as his joints hissed from decompression. He opticked Smokescreen contemplatively, but the irate Praxian refused to give him the satisfaction of civil conversation. Smokescreen stood behind the haphazard row of guest chairs, arms akimbo, and doorwings twitching like he wanted to pace.

"So," Ironhide began. "Ah know yah upset with me, but Ah'd hoped yah'd at least let meh explain."

Smokescreen frowned deeper. "You mean distract me while your helpers further enamor my brother with the 'glamors' of warfare and make me into the bad mech when I gotta tell him no!"

The old soldier sighed. "Smokey, Ah really need yah to let meh explain."

The Praxian huffed and flopped into the nearest wing friendly chair. "then talk quickly."

Ironhide offered him a chagrinned smile. "Yah know, Ah'm actually against teaching younglings combat skills of any kind, if it makes ya feel better."

It did not and Smokescreen raised an optic ridge to indicate for Ironhide to get on with his explanation.

"Look," the old Iaconi said sternly. "Ah know yer upset with meh, and Ah understand he's a lil'un who's had a real hard time of it in his sparklinghood, but this is war. Ah wanted tah wait just like you,but Ah kept picturin' what would happen if thah 'Cons got in 'ere and the bitlets didna know how tah defend themselves."

"That's never going to happen!" Smokescreen interjected angrily.

Ironhide gave him a long hard look until Smokescreen could no longer take the optic contact and looked away. "It won't." he continued to protest petulantly.

"Smokescreen, you were in thah meetin' where Prowl told us all that thah 'Cons was plannin' a global takeover and how he described the evacuation would hafta work. Iacon's gonna be thah las' one standin' and unless yer plannin' tah send yahr brother away to thah refuge colonies, he's gonna be with us when we're surrounded by 'Cons on all sides."

Smokescreen's wings fell and he stared at the floor as that sank in. He looked up and spoke despairingly. "Prowl and I had the best sparklinghoods, our creators doted on us. Blue… he never got that and it was not fair, and I can't live with myself knowing I didn't at least try to make up for that."

Ironhide's field pulsed out in sympathy. "He loves thah two of yah, yah know. You two are his world yah 'ave made him so happy. When Ah talked tah 'im about what we might start 'im in, he confided in meh thah he has never felt wanted before. He swore to me very seriously that he _would_ learn everything I could teach 'im really well so he could protect the two of you and make sure that _his_ brothers were always safe."

Tears dripped down Smokescreen's faceplates and he looked absolutely devastated. "He should have to feel like that. A normal youngling wouldn't even think that way!"

Ironhide smiled sadly. "It's not your fault Smokey. You've done more than good enough in attemptin' tah give Blue a great sparklinghood, but thah early trauma will always be with 'im. It's thanks tah you though thah he's applyin' thah trauma in'a healthy manner. Bein' protective of thah best thing tah ever 'appen tah 'im 's least harmful response he could possibly 'ave."

"What… what do I do?"

"Yah just focus on bein' his big brother an' let meh worry about guidin' 'im gently intah combat trainin' as slowly as Ah dare. Besides, from where he tested in 'is aptitudes, yah won't ever hafta worry about 'im seein' thah front lines."

Smokescreen's gaze sharpened. "You are _not_ recommending him to Spec Ops!"

Ironhide chuckled heartily and began queuing up security feeds for the Armory's training facilities. "No, not Spec Ops, but Armory Special Services, certainly."

Smokescreen puffed up like a particularly offended robofowl. "My sparkling brother is not going to be a _bomb technician_ either!"

Ironhide rolled his optics and activated the holographic viewer. The detailed image showed a little grey Praxian struggling valiantly to clean and assemble an equally small training rifle. Tiny doorwings flared up and forward to collect data as the mechling doggedly went about his task. When he finally finished assembling the rifle, he jumped and thrust his little fists in the air. Smokescreen could see his littlest brother talking with someone off-screen that he assumed was Ironhide until the mech moved on-screen to help Bluestreak position the rifle properly in his arms. Even from the rear, Sunstreaker's golden plating and helm fins were unmistakable. Bluestreak held the rifle like he had been holding it all his life as he strode up to the firing line.

Despite himself, Smokescreen felt his vents holding as Bluestreak took aim. As much as he distinctly _did not_ want his brother learning the ways of war, he also wanted him to succeed in everything he put his servo to.

Bluestreak fired.

The colored stunbolt hit the dead center of the target and Smokescreen jumped in his chair in celebration. Ironhide cocked an optic ridge at that, but the eldest Praxian did not dignify it with a response. What followed on the feed was a montage of Bluestreak scoring bullseye after bullseye, over and over, until the rifle was empty.

Smokescreen turned to Ironhide. "How many joors did you have him practicing for that?!"

Ironhide smirked. "Thah was his first try."

Smokescreen looked at the frozen still of the last shot and whispered. "That's not possible, no one is that good their first try."

"Whaill, that ain't exactly true, it just takes a very, very special an' rare spark tah do it."

The blue mech's vents seized, then he gasped. "Blue's a point one percenter…"

"Yup," Ironhide replied. "An' if Ah'm naught mistaken, he's gonna be thah best sniper we ever had."

* * *

Ok, so the warning from the top of the chapter. The guns the sparklings use are akin to paintball guns or underpowered airsoft guns. Completely safe and perfect for teaching kids how to handle real weapons when they are adults.

greencateyes99: glad you liked it!

kittyKat010: my characterization of Ricochet is heavily influenced by stories by dragonofdispair, taralynden, and silberstreif, who I highly recommend as fantastic writers.

CNightJoy: very much so not telling, but I think you will enjoy it!

RainbowGuardian13: I would say things are actually going a little too good, but I can't really complain.

Vela513: the elevator is yours my dear.

Zeth: oh yes, lots of shoveltalk, lots! And Smokey's trials will be very enjoyable indeed.

Dutchess-Of-Dirt: thank you! (and welcome! I don't believe I have had the pleasure of a review from you before.)


	3. Chapter 3: Polyhex

Hi all, I am rushing to post this so it can be the August post, so I will reply to reviews next time.

Thanks and enjoy!

Warnings: Ricochet is going to express a judgmental opinion in this chapter that I personally do not hold to, please note that fact and realized that it is being expressed to exhibit his selective naivety, thank you.

Update: I discovered I had accidentally been writing Ricochet in the wrong colors in this chapter (he is primarily black and gold with white highlights), that has been fixed and the chapter reposted.

* * *

Chapter 3:

They had been at Polyhex Border Base for going on three metacycles and in that time Prowl had been magnificent. At least according to Jazz. The saboteur had never been happier to be stuck on chassisguard duty; it afforded him the perfect opportunity to ogle… ahem, observe the finer qualities of his courtmate. Of course that duty would have been far easier to accomplish if his blasted brother would just leave him be for just. Five. Kliks! He understood, he really did. Ricochet and he had been estranged for vorns, very nearly an entire century, but was it really necessary for Ric to cling like a magnetolizard with its food. The mechanimal parallel was particularly accurate too. Ricochet would attach himself to Jazz in the aforementioned manner, then hiss whenever certain mechs interrupted 'brotherly bonding time'. It had taken Jazz a whole metacycle to figure that out that the only mech who _always_ got hissed at was Prowl, otherwise it took repeated interruptions for Ricochet to begin reacting. The problem was that Jazz did not know what his brother's problem was with Prowl. Every time he asked, the younger mech blew it off and then escaped quickly after. Fortunately, he would stay gone long enough for Jazz to have the occasional quiet, sometimes romantic, meal with his Prowler, but, unfortunately, not long enough for Jazz to get any proper snuggling done.

It had to end.

Jazz had not had a proper date with his love since that first rendezvous at the hot spring.

It was time to lay a trap.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jazz had been gushing all orn long… and it was disgustingly cute.

 _No!_ Ricochet corrected himself. _Not disgustingly cute, just disgusting._

It did not matter that Prowl was smoking hot and it certainly did not matter that they were an adorable couple, they had matching colors, for Primus sake!

Ricochet stopped his thought thread again, it was so hard sometimes to remember that he was supposed to be vetting Prowl's suitability as Jazz's potential mate. As it was, the Praxian was beginning to show some colors he did not like. Prowl had promised Jazz that they would have another romantic interlude in the oil spring, but Ricochet had overheard the Praxian arranging an offsite meeting with the Resistance at the proposed date time. Therefore, it was up to Ricochet to first comfort his soon to be distraught brother, then go beat the lubricant out of the errant Praxian.

Ricochet watched from a hidden alcove as Prowl and his not-Jazz escort left. When the dust cloud disappeared into the night he turned and made his way to the deep levels lift. He had never had cause to use this particular lift before and it made him laugh to hear the popular horror music emitted from the speakers in lieu of the traditionally boring lift jingles. He knew in his spark of sparks that Jazz was somehow responsible. The lift opened at the lowest level and the black and gold Poly strode out. As he walked into the natural metal of the planet's substructure he could not help admiring the fine craftsmechship displayed by the mechs who had raised the ceilings of the natural corridors to a proper height. If it were not second nature to him as a below-ground dwelling Polyhexian, he would never have been able to tell where the natural rock ended and the sculpting started.

Ricochet entered the steaming grotto and began stealthing around to find his brother. Jazz was in the farthest of the intimate pools with a decanter of highgrade and a box of rust sticks. The younger Poly cleared his vocalizer to get his brother's attention.

Jazz turned around in the oil. "Hey Ric! Come on in, the oil's fantastic."

Ricochet raised an optic ridge, why wasn't Jazz surprised to see him.

Aaaand, that was the sound of the door closing behind him.

Ricochet stared at the closed door suspiciously. He suddenly wondered if Prowl's callousness had truly been real, or a ruse of Jazz's design. His brother had attempted to casually confront him several times concerning his attitude toward Prowl, but Ricochet had been successful in evading the topic… until now. The younger Poly idly drummed his claws on the door wondering if he could break it down before his brother pinned him.

"Don' bother Ric." Jazz said drolly. "Once Ah realized dis place wasn' secured from tunnel'rs, Ah had Wheeljack ship meh some microdrones. Dey tunneled in between tha walls n' laced 'em wit' a carbonized plazsteel fiber weave. 'S stronger n' titanium carbonide n' pretty much anehthin' else, 'cept mebbe unutrium. So unless ya got some new upgrades while ya w's wit' tha 'Cons it's a futile gesture, cuz tha doors'r made o' tha same."

Yep, a trap. Jazz was going to have this conversation with him whether Ricochet liked it or not. The younger Poly huffed at his foiled mission and plopped down into the oil. And if it soaked Jazz through and threatened to wash away his treats, it was a just revenge. Jazz surfaced from the wave of hot oil smirking. The annoying slagger had managed to acquire a shield generator small enough to cover the tiny niche the food was stored in.

Ricochet glared. "Ya're such a slagger."

Jazz grinned. "Mah deares', mos' fav'rite brotha', tha' title mos' certainleh belongs to you."

Ricochet sniffed primly. "Ah'm not tha one tha' locked us in here."

"No," Jazz snorted. "Bu' ya tha one bein' an aft ta _mah_ Prowler."

Ricochet struggled no to look guilty. He was doing his job, slaggit, and he was _not_ going to feel bad about it! He mumbled as much to the oil boiling around his chassis.

"Seriously mech?!" Jazz exclaimed, because of course he would hear that. "Ric, while Ah love ya fo' wantin' ta make sure onleh tha best mech makes a try fo' meh, ya need ta understand tha Prowler is tha' best mech."

Ricochet folded his arms over his glistening black chassis and raised an optic ridge. "Ah reserve tha right ta judge fo' mahself."

"Then how 'bout Ah tell ya 'bout him?"

Ricochet shrugged grumpily. "Sure."

""Okay then, where ta start." Jazz replied. "So, when Prowl n' Ah met, Ah w's kinda undercova'. He w' inspectin' this shipment o' recruits from the Sonic Canyon bootcap, which Ah'd been inserted in as a cova'. He w's this rigid, prim, smokin' hot piece o' aft, emphasis on da aft n' not in'a good way, n' so, so cold. Like, nitrogen spikes in tender places cold. Truth be tol', Ah thought he needed ta lighten up. Wit'out goin' in ta detail ya not cleared ta know, Ah ended up workin' in Tactical as liaison from Ops n' Ah decided Ah w's gonna remove tha rod up his aft if it killed meh. Onleh,… it didn' quite go down like tha. Ah realized tha' he needed a friend. Ah mean, he has Prime and his brotha', bu' his sense o' propriety has been drilled inta him so strongleh tha' he don' feel like he c'n go ta Prime in a casual setting while tha war's on n' his brotha's his direct subordinate n' he can' show fav'ritisim, even though _all_ his underlin's would be ok wit' seein' him relax wit' his family. Ah w'sn' in his direct chain o' command, 'cept fo' tha whole SIC thing, bu' in order ta accomplish tha' kinda feat Ah knew Ah hadda break his shell. Bein' nice didn' work, workin' hard didn' work, cuz Ah observed both a those traits bein displayed towards him by otha', similarly ranked officers n' he neva' took it as anehthin' more than profession'l courtesy. So, Ah did tha one thin' no one evah dared."

Jazz paused his narrative to slowly rearrange his treats and pour two cubes of highgrade, one of which he handed to his fidgeting brother. He knew that Ricochet hated cliffhangers, but it was just too much fun to watch him squirm. Ricochet was trying to be stubborn too and make Jazz start back up unprompted.

Sip.

Sip, sip.

Slurp.

Sip. Sip. Sip.

Back and forth they went, each pointedly drinking from their cubes in nonverbal cue to the other. As most siblings would when in competition with the other, neither wanted to be the one to yield first. Ricochet just could not take the burning curiousity.

"Well?! Wha' happened?"

Jazz snickered in triumph despite knowing his brother would find a way to get back at him eventully. "Well, Ah started annoyin' him. Everythin' Ah did barely skirted tha edge o' regulations or w's done by tha book, bu' in tha mos' annoyin' way possible. Tha few times he dragged, literally on two occasions, meh inta his office ta scream at meh, Ah w's readeh wit' ev'ry reg tha' 'llowed meh ta do wha' Ah w's in trouble fo'." Jazz snickered again. "He would get so mad his lights'd go off."

Ricochet stared at his brother in horror. Jazz was laughing so hard he could not talk. "Jazz! Jazz, please tell meh ya not sayin' ya tortured tha mech inta courtin' ya." A more horrific thought jumped into the younger Polyhexian's meta. "Is he a masochist?!"

Jazz blinked at him, stunned into silence, then, when the mental image registered he collapsed back into loud, strut-shaking _peals_ of laughter. "A mas… Prowl?... Primus preserve meh…" he gasped. "No, no mah Prowler's not'a masochist!"

Ricochet sank back into the oil, limp in his relief. That could have been a horrible development. He knew from his time in the Decepticons that masochists were some of the most messed up individuals, because who in their right meta enjoyed pain, much less full on beatings? Ricochet took a long pull of his highgrade and swished his servo at his brother to get over it and finish telling him the sordid tale of how Prowl was an acceptable mech for Jazz's affection.

The black and white Poly vented for several long moments to get his heaving, overheated chassis back to normal. He slid out of the oil to facilitate better cooling. "Ok, so yeah, um, Prowler didn' fall in lust wit' meh fo' tha way Ah irked him. It did make him notice meh though. Over tha course o' time n' events Ah can' tell ya 'bout, we kinda called a cease-fire wit' tha end o' mah mission. Ah sent him a tradish'nal friendship crystal arrangement n' tha rest is hist'ry."

Ricochet waited for Jazz to continue, but that seemed to be the end of the narrative. "Um, Jazz? While it's nice ta know how you became friends, it doesn tell meh how ya fell in love or why he's worthy o' ya. Ah'm not seein' aneh incentive ta not make him prove himself ta meh."

Here Jazz looked confused. "Ah don' realleh know how we came to love each otha, actualleh. One orn we were preppin' fo' an incursion tha' would require Prowler ta be in'a dang'rous position on tha' field o' battle, n' Ah realized Ah wouldn' be able ta handle it if somethin' happened ta him. Ah loved him n' even though we didn' even have tha' kinda r'lationship, much less bonded, Ah don' think Ah'd'a survived."

Ricochet frowned and said flatly. "Mechs don' die from broken sparks."

Jazz leveled a look at him. "Yeah mech, they do, all tha time. They may not fade like a bonded mech does, bu' dey ain' tha same. Some become hollow shells; some choose ta fo'get via r'fo'mattin'; some choose assisted suicide by way o' tha 'Cons. When ya find ya One, Ric, ya'll understan'. When ya in this deep, there ain' no goin' back. It's eitha bond n' fade wit'em or don' n become a gutted thing tha' wishes it could die,… or wishes it coulda said 'Ah love you', one las' time."

The room was maudlin as Ricochet contemplated that answer. Then he rose, allowing the oil to stream from his frame back into the pool, and walked to the door.

"Ah'm sorreh Jazz, but if ya love him tha' much Ah can't slack up on him." He leaned his forehelm against the bolted door. "Ya tha onleh fam'ly Ah got left, n' Ah can't lose ya 'gain. N' if tha' means Ah gotta hound Prowl until he not onleh does right by ya, bu' loves ya back jus' as much, tha's wha' Ah'm gonna do."

Jazz came the electronic signal to unlock the door without reply. He knew when his brother got like this there was no reasoning with him; Ricochet would have to come around on his own.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Prowl strolled back into the base, optics glowing in satisfaction, though the rest of his demeanor remained coldly impassive. The last arrangements for the fleeing Polyhexian Resistance had been completed and the first group would be leaving that very dark-cycle. After having worked with them for a time he could understand why they resisted leaving. They reluctantly revised their stance only after Megatron's master plan was revealed to them. The Polyhexian war of attrition would continue off-world now.

With that great burden off his shoulders, Prowl could safely allow his meta to turn to personal matters. Like the fact that Jazz had given up the last of his too-few opportunities to see his homeland because he needed to speak with his brother. What bothered Prowl most was the wedge he seemed to be in an otherwise healthily healing brotherly relationship. For this reason he felt like he should have been present to at least discover what transgression he had committed to earn Ricochet's ire, but Jazz had insisted it was not like that. Now, however, Prowl intended to get some answers.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jazz stood in the semi-communal washrack between his berthroom and Prowl's, and buffed in the last of the oil from the pools. He looked at his plating in the mirror and smiled. The glossy richness reminded him of home, where even the lowest ranked of the destitute looked well-polished due to the abundance of the healing oil. As he stood there a white servo snuck around his side to splay over his abdominal plates and a large doorwinged frame pressed to his backplates while a helm nuzzled into his neck.

Jazz leaned back into Prowl's embrace and tipped his helm back to press their forehelms' together in an intimate gesture that was purely Praxian.

"Hello Luv." The Polyhexian purred.

Prowl shivered and traced a path to the smaller mech's audial with his nasal ridge. "I missed you. You are so beautiful and I don't know how I possibly lived before you entered my life. I especially missed your wise counsel during the arrangements with your countrymechs this orn."

Jazz gasped at the low tones being lavished on his sensitive audials. "S-sorreh Prowler, Ah tol' ya tha' talk wit' Ric couldn' wait."

Prowl released his courtmate and led him into the master suite receiving room for dark-cycle energon. "Yes, and I do want to encourage the restoration of your relationship. However, if I may, I would still like to know what his issue is with me. It is impossible for me to mitigate a negative association I am not aware of."

Jazz slumped onto the couch. "Aw Prowler, Ah tol' ya, it's nothin' ta worreh about. There's nothin' ya c'n do 'bout it anehway."

Prowl pulled him in to snuggle with an arm around his shoulders. "You do not know that, unless you tell me and _I_ declare it so."

Jazz closed his optics; he really did not want to fight with his pre-conjunx, he just did not. That meant making a decision to allow the two mechs he loved most in the world to be actively at odds with one another, which actually would not be that much different than the one-sided passive aggressive actions that were occurring now.

"He doesn' think ya worthy o' meh, n' he's tryin' ta get ya ta prove yaself ta him."

Prowl arched an optic ridge. "Disregarding that I agree with him, how was it better that I not know this?"

"Bcuz there's nothin' ya c'n do 'bout it. He has'ta come 'round on his own."

"On the contrary." Prowl replied gently. "I have been avoiding him based on the misinformed conclusion that he hated me for taking you away from him. It seemed least objectionable for me to stay out of his way. Knowing now that his actions are purely those of a protective brother doing his duty by his sibling, I can choose a more effective means of dealing with him."

Jazz waited for Prowl to explain but it seemed he was not to know his love's plan until the fireworks started. It made him uneasy, but he knew perfectly well that there was no way to pry information from the Praxian tactician when he did not want to share. Instead he leaned back and resolved to enjoy his rarely undisturbed snuggle time. The heat of Prowl's chassis was comforting and he sank into it willingly. Such stillness was uncharacteristic of him, outside of a mission, but when it came to Prowl, Jazz found himself craving the peaceful attention. To him the tranquility represented safety; all was well.

Then Prowl reached up and began stroking the saboteur's audial horns. It made Jazz wriggle and go limp across Prowl's lap, and the saboteur could only be glad his mech had waited til after they finished their cubes.

The sensations rolled through him in relentless waves and Jazz could only barely hold himself back from reaching up to catch Prowl in a kiss. Kissing, by Praxian standards was a relationship stage that _had_ to be initiated by the Prathama. Solaris had been adamant on that point. Jazz was permitted to tease and tempt and otherwise try to be irresistible, yet nothing more. Once Prowl took the initiative however, all bets were off and Jazz fully intended to make up for the enforced wait by snogging his partner at every available opportunity. Jazz undulated sensually and slithered up to prop himself against Prowl's chestplates, scraping their chassis together in a way that made the Praxian shiver. The saboteur was hopeful that this time might be the time he got kissed, but Prowl was a teasing little slag, as he merely leaned down to stroke their nasal ridges together. Jazz tipped his helm, adding the temptation of the closeness of his lipplates to the mix. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect of making Prowl withdraw to stroke his chevron shield against Jazz's forehelm. The saboteur refused to be disappointed; his love needed him to wait, so he would wait. Besides, it was not like Prowl was rejecting him, he was in fact lavishing Praxian affection on Jazz by the truckload. Just because it was not taking the form Jazz wanted at the moment, did not mean that he would reject what was freely offered. Besides, the softer intimacy made Jazz's spark feel tight in the best ways.

"Ah love you." He breathed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The very next orn Prowl set his plan into motion. He summoned Ricochet to his temporary office and bade him sit.

"Ricochet of Polyhex, for the last few metacycles you have been under probation while we determined the sincerity of your defection. Your claims have been admirably upheld and the Autobot Armed Forces are now prepared to continue with your induction. Your aptitude tests have been reviewed extensively and with the further recommendation of my best advisor, I believe I have found a position that will suit your talents admirably."

The black and gold mech stared him with narrowed optics. "Permission ta speak freely sir."

Prowl glanced up from his datapad. "Granted."

"Ah can't help but notice this's comin' pretteh close on tha ped spurs o' mah little spark ta spark wit' Jazz, n' Ah can't help wonderin' if this ain' ya tryin' ta curry mah favor."

Prowl leaned forward and laced his digits together on the desk. "Quite the opposite Ricochet. Jazz did indeed allude to the nature of your tiff with me, but this change of status has been pending in my inbox for nearly a decacycle. I knew where I wanted to place you, but your seeming aversion to me has stayed my servo. I believed you to be jealous, that I might have come between the two of you. I had no desire to make your functioning more difficult, so I removed myself from your presence. Last dark cycle Jazz informed me that my conclusion was flawed, thus my actions must also change."

"Uh huh." Ricochet replied, still skeptical.

Prowl allowed himself a faint smile. "Indeed. With the new data I have determined it would be more effective for us to spend time _together_. According to Jazz you have considerable administrative skills, and were the one who kept the two of you organized in your business ventures. Although he did warn me that those skills do not extend beyond the workplace and that your personal habits are more along the lines of my elder brother Smokescreen and my younger brother's dearest friends, banes of my existence they both are. Thus you are hereby assigned as the personal assistant to the Chief Tactical Officer and Apprentice Mission Planner for Special Operations under the command of the Ops Liaison to Tactical."

Ricochet puffed up, indignation ripe in his field. "Ah did not join this army ta be a glorified secretary, sir."

Prowl arched An optic ridge, but kept his field and vocalizer inflectionless. "No, you joined to keep an optic on your twin and his beau. As to being a glorified secretary, I believe I offered you an apprenticeship, not a purely clerical position."

The Polyhexian's plating smoothed back down and a faint feeling of chagrin could be detected in his field. "Why wouldja do tha'?"

Prowl leaned forward. "Because you are my courtmate's brother, and I will not have my Love living in misery because my brother-by-bond cannot tolerate my presence."

"So, ya planned ta play at friendship n' offer bribery until ya get mah blessin'?"

"On the contrary," Prowl said evenly as he leaned forward, a faint whip of irritation in his placid field. "I am choosing to give us both an opportunity to know the other without pretense or guile."

Ricochet shrugged. "Ah won' be goin' easeh on ya."

Prowl smiled faintly. "I can accept that."

"Then we have a deal."


	4. Chapter 4: Iacon

Hi guys and gals, so, I'm not really going to apologize for being late this time. There was a promotion that opened up at work and I wanted it, so to be in the running I had to devote all my spare time to training for it. I still managed to sneak in a moment here and there to write so this chapter was able to happen. I hope you all enjoy it. Its NaNoWriMo too, but I'm doing that differently, in that I am not hand writing all my stuff like I normally do, and am writing it on the computer. This means you all should see a few chapters pop up over the course of the month, as opposed to waiting until December.

Now, on with the show.

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Chapter 4:

Bluestreak jumped up and down excitedly as two land gliders entered the underground hanger bay. The two sentient ground transports, Dune and Sandslider, were good acquaintances of the littlest Praxian as the two had been tasked to the team getting the refugee Polyhexians out. This made them prime sources for updates on Prowl and Jazz. That they thought the tiny mechling was adorable in his insatiable quest to keep an optic on his absent brother meant they always tried to bring back at least one tidbit of information.

To this end, they were therefore expecting it when Bluestreak dashed down from the observation overlook and among their cooling and decompressing hover coils. Dune popped a panel loose to shield the bitlet when he came too close to a superheated thruster in his excitement and lit up a line of biolights to show him which exit hatch would yield the mecha he wanted.

When Bluestreak noticed this he stopped and giggled, then began to stealth his way along using newly instilled skills from Sideswipe. When he got to the ramp he stayed out of sight behind it and waited for the correct color legs to pass him by.

-.''.-.''.-.''.-

Jazz strode down the boarding ramp joking with his brother about finally getting to tour the world like they once dreamed of. He happened to look down as he left the shuttle and noticed something odd about Dune's shadow. A quick passive scan and the picture became quite clear. He gave props to the mechling for staying so silent and still, but without the necessary ops-grade dampeners, he still showed up on scans very clearly.

Jazz stopped his brother's forward progress under the pretense of telling a juicy tidbit about an unclaimed prank that had occurred in the hanger. This allowed Prowl to get ahead of them in the line. When the older Praxian got to the bottom Jazz shushed his brother and motioned for him to pay attention to the epic thing about to happen.

-.''.-.''.-.''.-

Blue legs.

Brown legs.

Blue and brown legs.

Yellow legs.

Green legs.

Bluestreak struggled to hold in a sigh. It was taking soooo long for his brother to pass by!

Finally he saws black and white limbs and _leapt_!

-.''.-.''.-.''.-

Jazz knew that Prowl knew Bluestreak was there. Jazz also knew that Prowl was feigning ignorance, which in his opinion made it even more cute.

The tiny Praxian leapt from behind the ramp and tackled Prowl's legs. The elder Praxian rocked forward with the sudden weight, then stared downward at his newest lump with servos on his hip-gimbals.

"Oh dear." Prowl said, completely deadpan. "It seems I have picked up a spaceleech."

Bluestreak giggled and scrambled up his brother's frame until he faceplate level with him. "I missed you." He breathed softly.

Prowl let a genuine smile tip over his faceplates and swept him into the best of hugs. "I have missed you too. Have you been making sure our brother behaved while I was gone?"

Bluestreak nodded solemnly. "Yeah, I tol' him no gambling an' no betting. Raj and TB helped me."

"They did?" Prowl considered he might have to give the other mechs a reward for their responsible behavior, but he suspected the fun of 'policing' Smokescreen had been its own reward.

While they were greeting one another, Jazz and his twin approached the bottom of the ramp. Bluestreak spied them and lunged out of Prowl's arms at the saboteur. "Jazz!"

Jazz caught the youngling and immediately tossed him up into the air. Bluestreak came down shrieking in laughter and reached up to try and hug the saboteur as he was caught. Jazz, however, spun as the youngling landed and flipped him so he could tickle Bluestreak's sensitive abdominal seams.

Bluestreak giggled uncontrollably and flailed his limbs. "Jazz… stop! No fair!"

"Not fair, not fair! Ah'll show you not fair!" Jazz replied playfully.

The saboteur then shifted the youngling to hang over his shoulder and began running back up the gangplank. "Ah'm'a mechnap ya n' highjack dis transport so we c'n travel Cyba'tron as Pirate Jazz and his trusteh Cabinsparklin'! All tha world'll be at our digit tips."

"No! No Jazz!" Bluestreak mock-wailed with a huge grin. "Prowl save me!"

Prowl, who had been watching in calm bemusement, hunched over and flared his plating out. Beautifully sharp retractable claws popped out of the Praxian's digits and wings flared forward in a threat gesture. He looked like a weremech from the fairytales.

"Jaaaazz." Prowl growled breathily.

Jazz looked back at the effigy of death and shivered in arousal. He debated his choices and weighed the outcomes.

Then suddenly, "Catch meh if ya can Prowler!"

The Polyhexian leapt to the roof of the transport and launched his grapplers at the railing of the overlook. Jazz magnetized Blue to his chassis and shoulder, and shimmied up the line. It was a good thing too, because Prowl was right behind him.

As Praxian and Polyhexian continued their game of chase out into the base proper, Ricochet was left behind surrounded by strangers.

"Well Ah'll jus' stay here then?" he shouted after them.

Neither answered.

Ricochet huffed and threw up his servos. Now what was he supposed to do? No billeting, no friends, nowhere to go. The Polyhexian folded his arms and huffed.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. "Hi, you must be Ricochet?"

Ricochet turned around and about fell over. Standing before him with a mischievous grin was the most beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, delectable mech Ric had ever seen. "Guh…"

The super-hot Praxian grinned bigger. "The feeling's mutual. Wouldja like to have a drink with me before I show you to your quarters?"

"Guh."

Smokescreen looped an arm around Ricochet's shoulders. "I'm gonna take that as a yes."

-.''.-.''.-.''.-

By the time Prowl made it to the corridor, Jazz had already hidden himself away. The black and white's wings flicked back and forth trying to pick up the saboteur's resonance in the area. Jazz must have convinced Bluestreak to be quiet, but silence would not help him against Prowl's powerful sensors. The corridor was a well-used one, so it took a few nano-kliks to sift through the miasma of residual EM waves before he found the faint resonance of an opsmech in stealth mode. Prowl's sensor suite was by far the most powerful of all the remaining Praxians, but when Praxus still stood, he would have been considered normal for an enforcer of the pursuit/tactical class, if still above normal for a regular Praxians. Megatron would never know what a resource he destroyed when he obliterated Praxus.

The average Praxian's sensors were more powerful than other cybertronians', were more sensitive to sound vibrations than even the most specialized audials, more attuned to other mecha's electromagnetic fields and spark resonance that any telepath. In short, it did not matter how many mods Jazz had, he did not stand a chance.

Prowl stalked along the hall, detecting the precise point where Jazz had been alone enough to switch to the 'ceiling highway' as the Polyhexian called it. Against any other tracker, this might have led to the opsmech's escape, but not so with Prowl. Very few of the opsmecha walked around using the ceiling, so there were perhaps three or four resonances to sort out as compared to the dozens on the ground.

Jazz's resonance still led him on a merry chase around the base and it was difficult at times to maintain a proper level of decorum when all he wanted was to race through like a cyberwolf on the hunt. Finally, finally! Prowl caught up with his elusive Polyhexian at the entrance to the Northward Commisary.

"Jazz." He growled. "You have someone who belongs to me."

Jazz grinned and held up Bluestreak like a shield. "Blue! Save meh!"

Bluestreak giggled and pacified the beast by snuggling into Prowl's opened arms. Then the devious mechling laid the final bait for the real trap. "Prowl, I'm hungry. Can we get somethin' to eat before you see Uncle Optimus?"

Prowl hesitated to give his stock response about responsibilities of command and, after Bluestreak pulled out the turbopuppy optics, commed Optimus. -:- Good evening sir, I have just arrived back in Iacon and was hoping, perhaps, that I might be permitted to delay our debrief so I can share dark-cycle energon with my family? -:-

-:- Think nothing of it Prowl, enjoy your meal. The war can wait until morning. -:- Optimus replied promptly.

Prowl signed off the comm call and smiled faintly at Bluestreak. "I do believe I have time to eat with you."

Blue grinned back, slid to the floor, and grabbed Prowl's servo to lead them in. Jazz stepped up behind them and triggered the door open.

"Surprise! Welcome home!"

-.''.-.''.-.''.-

A Praxian and a Polyhexian swayed down the corridor. Both mechs had attended the Welcome Back Celebration and been plied heavily with high grade by their friends and family despite not desiring to get overcharged. For this reason the Polyhexian found it acceptable to trail his pointer digit down the lower edge of the Praxian's doorwing. The Praxian would retaliate a few kliks later by trailing his servo down sensitive spinal struts to tweak the Polyhexian's _very_ nice aft.

The salacious touches continued until they reached the officer's wing. Then the Praxian turned on the Polyhexian. Pressed him against the wall. And devoured his mouth. Their kiss was sloppy with their overcharge but neither cared. There was only the meta-less pursuit of more sensation, more pleasure. They brought one another to their first overload right there in the, thankfully empty, corridor. Unfortunately for both inebriated mechs, the on-duty Security Director witnessed the entire sordid liaison and added it to their respective blackmail files as tactile stimulation was not considered intimate enough to be excluded. The intertwined mechs finally burned off enough charge to realize they needed to move their activities to a more private venue. The Praxian reached up to enter his entry code, which was very difficult to do with the way the Polyhexian was sucking on his glossa and nibbling on his lips.

On the fourth try the door slid open and they tumbled inside and into the Praxian's berthroom. Compared to opening the door, finding and falling on the berth was easy. There they writhed together in pleasure as chestplates and the underlying interface panels were popped. Cables were exchanged and the atmosphere grew hot. Towards the end of their passion, just before climax struck, there was a flash of red sparklight behind opening containment shields, answered by turquoise. They both strained and called out as overload struck.

Then there was silence but for pinging metal.

* * *

kittykat010: an amica is a best-friend, but for transformers they only get to pick one for their whole life, so it is kind-of a big deal to be chosen and comes with all sorts of responsibilities.

zeth: no trine for them, but Ricochet will be getting teased for his own attractions soon enough.


	5. Chapter 5: Still in Iacon

Ok, here's the second post of this year's NaNoWriMo.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 5:

The next morning Prowl and Jazz met for energon in the same commissary that the party had occurred in. The Praxian was pleased to see it had been fully cleaned from the previous orn's festivities. While it had been his idea to offer those in the brig the option to trade off orns of confinement for physical labor, it had been up to Red Alert to choose to implement that plan. He tipped his freshly filled cube at the nearest security camera and received an acknowledgement ping on his comm in reply.

Prowl turned to his usual table by the window and saw that Jazz had pushed a few tables together to create a larger seating accommodation. This likely meant that Blaster, the cassettes, and perhaps Jazz's ops team would be joining them. He nuzzled Jazz's horns as he sat and murmured a 'good morning.' Predictably, Jazz squirmed away from the ticklish sensation, then leaned into it when he realized it was Prowl. It warmed the older black and white's spark and once more put the desire to kiss his Polyhexian foremost in his meta. He knew that Jazz was showing incredible restraint by not giving in to his non-Praxian romantic habits, but Prowl still felt the need to test him.

Prowl served Jazz a cube and for a blessed moment they sipped in silence, then Jazz bounced his chair a little closer. "So, didja se who lef' tha party early las' night?"

Prowl looked at him with a bemused expression. "Yes, I do believe I did."

"Didja feel tha feedback?"

"Oh, most certainly. It was quite the feat to shield Bluestreak from it with as, enthusiastic, as they were. I wonder if _they_ noticed how 'into it' they got before they collapsed offline?"

Jazz splorfed. "Luv, tha fireworks're gonna hit tha roof so hard it migh' come off."

"Thus why you settled us for maximum viewing pleasure and greatest humiliation for them while they cross the room?" Prowl stated with a raised optic ridge and expansive gesture to the slowly filling room.

"Ohhh yeah… Ah owe Smokey but good fo' scarin' tha stuffin' out o' meh when Ah firs' started courtin' ya."

They sipped in silence again for a while, which allowed time for their friends to arrive and settle around the large conglomerate table. Good mornings and quiet chit-chat filled the air and Prowl basked in its peacefulness for a while. He would have been content to leave it that way, but his battle computer pinged him with a forewarning of the upcoming situation.

"Jazz, I do believe we are going to have a problem."

Jazz looked at him quizzically. "Whacha mean?"

"Newly bonded couples have to be in close proximity to one another for at least ten decacycles and available for frequent merged for up to five vorn. Even if they happen to fall on the shorter end of the scale, that's a full vorn."

"Why not jus' bring Smokey wit' us?"

"Who would stay to watch over Bluestreak? We cannot simply leave him alone by himself."

Jazz hemmed and hawed for a bit, then snapped his digits. "Bring him with us too!"

"What?!"

"Yeah, it perfect!" Jazz hopped up and down in excitement. "Ah was wantin' ta change out some o' tha team now that Raj, Hound, n' TB are back from honeymoonin', so we'll jus' bring Blue wit' us. He needs some culture exposure n' wit' him wantin' ta ask tha twins ta be his amicas Ah c'n transfer'em in as chassisguards. Bee'll wanna go so mah team's not split up, which means Sunny-bit will go, n' Blue'll have an agemate ta play wit'."

Prowl frowned. "Even were I comfortable allowing Bluestreak to go into dangerous environs like we will be in, that plan could actually decrease our security as it will take our numbers from five mecha to fifteen."

"Yeah, but tha cassettes will be 'nside Blaster, so they don' count n' tha littles onleh count as like half a mech each, so it would really onleh be a measurable party o' eight."

Before Prowl could refute that convoluted illogic, a whirlwind of mech parts that might have been two mechs burst into the room. The flurry of entangled mech bits spotted Prowl and Jazz and beelined over, separating into Ricochet and Smokescreen on the way. Their physical separation did nothing to help them when they arrived at the tables however.

"Prowl-Jazz! You-ya-have-to-gotta-help-hep-me-meh-explain, I-we-woke-bonded-up-accident'lly-and-n'-was-Ah-bonded-think-to-he's-this-mah-slagger-resonant!"

Prowl calmly sipped his morning ration and observed the frantic twosome. When the word salad seemed to taper off he spoke. "Smokescreen, while I appreciate that you seem to have made a new friend, I cannot understand you when you talk over the top of him."

Smokescreen gaped, then let loose the binary shriek of a dying modem, which caused Ricochet to fall silent in pain long enough for the red and blue Praxian to be heard."

" _HE_ is not my friend. We might have been friends, might, but I can't be friends with a mech that forces you to bond during a single dark-cycle's fun!"

Ricochet shouted in wordless anger. "Forced! Just who forced who?! Ya tha one tha' pulled meh inta ya quarters, ya tha one who opened his chestplates firs' too!"

"YOU didn't have to respond!"

"Ah w's drunk!"

"So was I!"

"Tha's no excuse! Ya an officer, ya 'sposed ta be tha r'sponsible one!"

"ENOUGH!" Prowl thundered. "Both of you, report to the Medical Wing for a bond exam, then report to my office. We will sit down like calm, mature individuals and sort this out without the slag-slinging. Quite honestly, I think you both deserve this comeuppance and that it was a long time coming. Now get yourselves to the medics!"

It was amazing how identical the mulish looks were, but both Praxian and Polyhexian turned dutifully for the exit. It was to the credit of the half full commissary that everyone pretended studied ignorance until the misfortunate pair was well out of audial range, _then_ started laughing their tires and treads off.

Prowl did not bother to suppress a smile as he sat and turned to catch Jazz as the saboteur fell out of his chair. He looked down at his hysterical prebonded and commented. "I used to pray, to Primus and the One that my brother would be cured of his errant ways. I just didn't expect them to try to cure your brother too."

Jazz clutched his sides. "Oh, oh please stop! Oh it's too much! It hurts to laugh Prowler!"

Prowl leaned down to nuzzle their nasal ridges together. "Did you hear what your brother said my Love?"

Jazz quieted and rewound the earlier mish-mash in his processor. "Did he say resonant?"

"I do believe he did."

"Huh, we're gonna need ta prove tha. It would explain some things."

"Indeed."

Then Prowl swept Jazz up and carried him out of the room to the meta-breaking astonishment of the assembly. Meanwhile, their friends just commented how tragic it was to be forgotten and continued their breakfast.

-.''.-.''.-.''.-

Meanwhile, in the family suite the three Praxians shared, Bluestreak was serving first meal to the Twins. He had delivered his invitation to them when they walked him back to room while the adults pulled out the highgrade for the welcome home party. It had been a little awkward for them to see their dear little friend so painfully anxious, so they responded fervently in the positive. They actually skipped the festivities to wash and polish for the occasion. They arrived promptly at the specified time, incidentally right in time to see Ricochet-and-Smokescreen come barreling out like a two-helmed wonder, and sat stiffly where Bluestreak directed them to. They were not sure what the fuss was about, but they were not going to make light of Bluestreak's seriousness.

They dutifully watched as Blue prepared their energon, strained intently when he struggled to manipulate the tray, and sighed in deep relief when he made it to the table without spilling a drop. The situation was perhaps not as dire as they acted, but their lack of proper sparklinghood made them intensely protective of Blue's. Therefore, they hovered like the best of rotary mechs circling a landing zone. They accepted their cubes with solemn thanks and declared them delightfully tasty in turn.

Bluestreak smiled and folded his little servos behind his back. "Thank you for coming today." He began a little stiffly. "I asked you to share energon with me today because tr'dishun said it was right. Sideswipe, you have shown me how to have fun again, how to take all that has happened in my life and laugh anyway. Sunstreaker, you are my courage , you taught me how to stand up for myself and others. You both taught me how to be a brother, how to have a family and how to be a friend. You both mean so much to me an' I hope you'll agree to be my amicas after I get my upgrade."

Sideswipe was openly crying with the biggest grin on his face; the twins had always longed to belong somewhere. Being part of the Autobots felt like being part of the pit crews in Kaon most orns, when what they really were searching for was a family. Part of them had always envied Bluestreak for lucking out and finding his, but now they would be part of that… if they accepted.

Sideswipe was completely ready to say yes, but Sunstreaker pushed a caution through their bond. The golden mech knelt before the tiny Praxian and stared him down firmly. "Are you sure? We are broken and violent and not very socially acceptable outside of war. What you're asking is permanent and can't be undone."

Blue met his gaze squarely. "If I weren't trined with my brothers I would have asked you to be trine."

Sideswipe knelt before the youngling, sinking into his bond with his twin so that it was Sideswipe-who-is-Sunstreaker-who-is-Sideswipe that settled their servos over Bluestreak's spark. "In Kaon there are no amicas, only brothers-decanted and brothers-chosen. It would be _our joy_ to call you amica-brother."

Bluestreak's smile could have powered all of Iacon.

-.''.-.''.-.''.-

Deep in the bowels of Iacon Base, three mecha stared at a bank of camera terminals. Technically, the room was the office of the Security Director, but within an orn of moving in, Red Alert has disposed of the traditional office furniture and moved in nearly a dozen banks of monitors. When asked why, he had informed Prowl in no uncertain terms that _REAL_ security director was always watching, even when not in the Security Hub. Prowl accepted that answer as proof of Red's dedication and competence and did not make an issue of it further, especially since Red Alert was meticulous about getting his paperwork done on time. The two were a match made in the Well and no one had been surprised at the announcement of their amica rites.

Therefore, due to the bond of trust between them, it was to here that Prowl turned when covert observance of his brother was needed. Red Alert was monitoring Smokescreen and Ricochet's progress in hunting down their hiding brothers. Said brothers were reviewing the previous dark-cycle's footage to determine just how much of the new bond was likely to have been driven by drink and how much by Primus-divined Resonance. Such things were rare, but well documented, often being characterized as love-at-first-sight. Affected mecha were hardly known to resist the call to bond for more than an orn or two and overcharge would significantly decrease that resistance.

What they saw confirmed the hypothesis. From the moment of meeting at the cargo hold ramp to the following party, the two had not separated. Newly bonded couples were less attached at the hip gimbals. Neither mech seemed to notice their profound, inexplicable attachment to one another and the highgrade flowed, so did their uncharacteristic affection increase proportionally.

After a few more kliks of video Jazz waved his servo in resignation. "Whelp, there's no doubt about it. They're resonant all right."

Prowl nodded. "The scans I just received from Medical confirm it, which answers the accusations of rape quite conclusively, even if neither of them really intended to imply such a crime."

"Yup. So, c'n we get on wit' tha tr'dition'l brotherleh torturin' n' prankin' now?"

Prowl grinned the carrier of all evil grins. "Most certainly."

The Praxian then turned to Red Alert. "Amica, we are finished with the cameras. Thank you for allowing us to invade your space."

Red Alert flapped his servo. "No bother, but you had better take off, Smokey's figured out you're here."

"Thanks Red." Jazz called as the black and whites backed out of the security system.

"If you take the left corridor, two rights, the second left, and the first lift up a level you can duck into the comm tower, which is set to raise to maximum elevation in five kliks."

Prowl pressed his forehelm to the back of Red's helm in grateful affection. Then the two skedaddled.

-.''.-.''.-.''.-

Smokescreen was just about ready to blow a smokestack and his altmode did not even come with that kibble! His brother was electing to show his rarely evident sense of humor and hiding from them! The matter of an accidental bond was no laughing matter and it was really upsetting Smokescreen that Prowl thought the incident was funny. The worst part was the emotional overshare that kept happening from the other side of the bond. He had attempted to put up blocks as soon as they discovered the extent of their situation that morning. It had been agony…

\- _Earlier that Same Orn_ -

Smokescreen awoke feeling rather well fragged. He vaguely remembered getting sloshed with that pretty Polyhexian that Jazz claimed was his brother and taking him home to his quarters. The events after that were extremely hazy and he set his diagnostics to do a defrag on the memories. Smokescreen did not have an overcharge, so the mech had to have been an exceptionally good frag. He definitely wanted to remember something that impressive.

As more of his systems came online, Smokescreen could feel that the little Poly had stayed the night and was currently snuggled deep in his embrace. His spark warmed at the thought and he nuzzled between Ricochet's delightfully sensitive horns. He was considering waking up his impromptu interface partner up with the prelude to round two when a return pulse of affection returned to his spark.

Smokescreen froze.

What. The. PIT. Was that?

Praying to Primus the whole time that he was just having an after-overcharge hallucination, Smokescreen pulsed out a feeling of neutral curiosity. A return pulse came back laced with muzzy feelings of security and warmth. Smokescreen emitted a skreel of horror. The horribly grating loud noise right in his audials woke Ricochet up in quite the hurry. The Polyhexian bounce straight up whilst still in a prone position to fling himself in the direction of the wall, the farthest place he go away from the sound. Plastered against the metal and pulling a less-than-legal energon dagger in instinctive self-defense, the Polyhexian powered his optics up in an emergency override that should not have been available to him.

"Whazzit? Whose 'ttackin'?" he mumbled, still more than half asleep, but more than ready to defend himself and his berthmate from danger.

"You bonded yourself to me!" Smokescreen shouted, not feeling an ounce of self-preservation in the face of the alarming, and irreversible, situation.

"Naw," Ricochet denied in confusion. "Ya w's a great frag, nu d'nyin' it, but we ain' know each'other long 'nuf ta bond."

Smokescreen growled and pulsed his upset down the nascent bond for his 'bondmate' to feel for himself.

Ricochet levitate and flung the dagger at the far wall in fright. "What tha frellin' pit was that?!" He clawed at his chestplates in panic. "Wha'd'ja do ta meh?!"

Smokescreen's psychology programming came online without his full consent and sent an imperative to his motor functions to stop the other mech from harming himself. Grasping Ricochet's lower arms in a tight hold, he held them to the black and gold's sides.

"We are bonded." He stated firmly and without room for objection. "We were overcharged. You bonded yourself to me."

The very much awake Ricochet turned a narrow look on Smokescreen. "Ah couldn't have bonded mahself ta ya if ya didn' open ya chestplates."

"I was overcharged."

"Uh huh, AH 'member who opened their chestplates firs' n' so do ya, I c'n see it in ya mem'ries."

Smokescreen slammed a block on the bond so fast it made his helm spin. The no-good bond-making Poly sooooo was not going to spy on _him_ through their sparks, nuh uh. Then the grief hit him. It felt like falling into a black, endless pit. The sense of _loss_ was overwhelming and his meta became consumed with finding that which was missing. His awareness narrowed down to his spark and only his spark; there was nothing else, only him, alone, lost, abandoned. Then a shining light appeared on the edge of his EM field. He pulled the comforting light close and stroked it tenderly. It pulsed reciprocal feelings of missing an integral part of itself and the desire to find that missing piece no matter the cost. As it touched his sparkmatter though, the sensations seemed to disappear like granules on the wind.

Coming back to his senses Smokescreen found himself mid-merge with Ricochet. It was simultaneously arousing and revolting. He suddenly understood the presence of the 'little light', and appreciated that the Polyhexian had tried to help him. However, it did not make Smokescreen anywhere near okay with being bonded. He retracted himself from the merge hastily.

It was a decision they both soon regretted. Apparently, when medics told you not to exit a consensual merge, even if Smokescreen did not wish to accept that it was such, until it reached its natural conclusion, overload or no, there were some pretty painful reasons why. Frankly, it felt like someone was cutting out pieces of their sparks with a dull knife, and despite the unease of the larger mech, they quickly rejoined their sparks. Both stayed stubbornly silent until their sparks realized no energy was being put into what would have otherwise been the height of erotic ecstasy and retracted back into their chambers. Still without a word, they both got up and began to clean off.

\- _Present Time_ -

Smokescreen remembered that somewhere during the cleanup Ricochet decided to address the crime he was being accused of. It led to an argument of who took advantage of who and who had the ultimate responsibility despite both being impaired at the time. At the height of their fight, one of them had the brilliant idea to enlist their brother on the side of their protestation. Thus the scene in the commissary earlier. Which brought Smokescreen's meta back to the present and the frustrating hunt for the missing pair of black and whites.

So far, they had visited the Tactical Division, the Security Director's office, and the Communications Deck, which had been excruciating since Blaster was on duty and Smokescreen had been previously flirting with the idea of courting the Communications Chief as well as actually flirting with the Communications Chief. Each time they got laughed at for their plight, except for the awkward moment on the Comms Deck, and directed to another location. At the last one, one of the lower ranked mecha had helped them, as Blaster had turned his back as soon as he saw who had darkened his door. Smokescreen had been upset to be treated like a joke, but to have the object of his affections so obviously hurt was the last straw. The, _urges_ , were not helping matters either.

Like now, for example, he felt the intense need to press Ricochet against the wall and show him who was boss in their relationship. Every time the thought came up, the urge got stronger. It was like pulling against a super-magnet. Before he could argue his spark out of complying Smokescreen had put stray thought into action. He seized Ricochet's lips with a passion he was not comfortable with. It felt so good, and stroking over his bonded was even better. Ricochet was no wilting nonparticipant either, as the wingless mech explored those tantalizing appendages he himself did not possess. When they pulled back, their lipplates clung together a moment from how strongly they had been pressed together. Panting, they gazed deeply into one another's optics before fulling coming back to their senses and leaping apart in embarrassment.

Their embarrassment was intensified when a sharp whistle cut through the air. They looked up to see Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, with Bluestreak perched atop the golden mech's shoulders, wee servos using wide helm fins as handles. Smokescreen growled at them.

" ~Uh oh, you're gonna be in trouble~ " A wide opticked Bluestreak sang out. "Prowl says you're not sposed to frat'nize outside the berthroom and Uncle Red says he always watches the cameras for vi-, vil'tors? Rulebreakers!"

Smokescreen's wings flared up in shocked outrage and his fists clenched. Bluestreak shrank back, suddenly flashing back to what those non-verbal cues signaled with his old trine.

"I'm sorry Smokey! I'm sorry! I won't tattle, promise!" He babbled.

Smokescreen unclenched his fists and stepped forward with the intent to lift his brother down. Bluestreak whimpered and tried to merge himself with Sunstreaker's plating. This caused the unstable golden twin to rumble threateningly at Smokescreen.

-:- I won't hurt him, but I need you not to interfere either. -:- Smokescreen transmitted through short-beam comm.

-:- You'd better not. -:- was the ominous reply as Sunstreaker permitted the clinging youngling to be detached from his shoulders.

Bluestreak looked at his almost-amica with such a betrayed look, but before Sunstreaker could snatch him back to the safety of his arms, Smokescreen gently but firmly turned the youngling's helm to face him.

"Bluestreak," the elder Praxian began softly. "I have had a rather trying orn, and our brother Prowl has not been very helpful with it. I am so sorry for making you think I would hurt you. If you feel you need to tell Prowl I was breaking the rules, you do it. I don't ever want you to think you need to cover for us if we are doing wrong things. If you see either of us breaking rules, you can tell someone, preferably us first so we can explain if it was really rule-breaking that you saw, okay?"

"But,... But you clenched your servos, and you looked so mad!" Bluestreak exclaimed meekly.

Smokescreen squidged him close. "Like I said, it's been a bad orn. The, um, conduct that you saw me and Ricochet, um, engaged in, isn't voluntary, we kinda, um, _have_ to do that kind of thing right now."

Bluestreak looked skeptical. "But it's against the rules!"

Smokescreen looked away at the ceiling uncomfortably. "Yeah, well,... when two mechs,... oh bother,... um, when mech's like Ricochet and I,... scrap, how to explain…"

A loud blatt of sound emitted from the nearest security camera, making the already nervous blue and red Praxian fairly leap out of his plating. Without any kind of apology for the near death experience, Red Alert's voice began to speak. "Bluestreak, your brother and Jazz's brother currently have a special dispensation that makes them exempt from the PDA regulations. Do you understand what that means mechling?"

Bluestreak nodded, knowing that Red could see him. "Yeah, it means that they aren't really breaking rules right now."

"Yes mechling, that's correct." It near about fritzed the twins to hear the Security Director speak so fondly to anyone.

"Why?" Bluestreak asked the camera.

Silence.

No one wanted to say anything, but everyone knew something needed to be said. Except for one individual.

Ricochet strode up to the mechling and placed a servo on his shoulder. "Your brother n' Ah are bondmates now. You know what bondmates are?"

Bluestreak's optics went big and round. "It means you're my brother now too!"

Ricochet grinned. "Yep, mechling that's exactly what it means."

Bluestreak leaned over to hug the short Polyhexian and whisper in his audial. "I know that means you love him, but the same as Jazz, if you hurt my brother I'll hurt you."

Ricochet rubbed the back of the youngling's helm. "You got it mini-mech."

The other three mech's just stared at how deftly the black and gold mech handled Bluestreak. Smokescreen personally was horrified, now that Ric had Bluestreak's blessing he'd never be able to get rid of the Poly. Ricochet just continued blithely on, enquiring as to where Bluestreak and company were headed.

"Oh, we're going to get Prowl and Jazz from Prowl's office so we can go to Medbay for the pre-exam for my upgrades!" Bluestreak exclaimed.

Smokescreen growled. "That's where the slagger is hiding!"

"Lil Blue, do ya think we could tag along with ya ta see ya brother? Smokes n' Ah got some important business we need ta d'scuss wit' him."

"Sure!"

Bluestreak slid down and grabbed Ricochet's servo. "Are you going to come to my appointment too?"

"If ya'd like."

Bluestreak grinned. "Yeah, you're family, family is 'sposed to do important stuff together!"

The group of five then moved off in the direction of the Tactical Department. Smokescreen could not help but think that Ricochet was really good with sparklings and how sad it made him that their relationship was basically being forced. Ricochet was gorgeous and he felt drawn to him. They had matched wits quite well the previous orn and if not for the unfortunate bonding he could see possibly courting the mech as his third. With the bond however, all of that was gone, and it depressed him. Smokescreen had always had this romantic picture in his helm where he would find the mech of his dreams, sweep him off his peds with brilliant, tender courtship, and carry him off into the proverbial starset to bond. Then, they would together find their third, and court that mech until he relented and bonded to them both. He thought that his first bonded would be Blaster, he had this whole plan in his helm about, and now that was all ruined. He would not feel bad for wanting to mourn the loss.

-."".-."".-."".-

Ricochet surreptitiously glanced at his resonant. It was really depressing how the mech kept rejecting what was between them. In Polyhex, resonants were revered as the ultimate in romantic occurrences. Perhaps one in ten thousand mecha would have a resonant in all of Cybertron and many were the Poly legends that featured them. According to the old stories, resonants were closely bonded couples who died tragically, or not depending on the story, and were reincarnated by Primus so they could have a longer chance at loving one another. It was that prior bond that caused the resonance according to medical science and the reason why affected mecha were so pit-bent on bonding quickly. There were stories of some mecha whose resonance was so strong that they crossed half the planet to find their lost beloved. Those mechs left behind testimonies of feeling a 'pull' even from a young age and 'knowing' they had to find their other halves. The last that Ricochet had heard, medical science was petitioning Iacon for a test to find resonants as soon as mecha came of age.

The double doors of the Medical Wing loomed large ahead of them and Ricochet sniffled, resigning himself to the hurt of being the one mech on the planet whose resonant hated them.

-.''.-.''.-.''.-

Once inside the group detoured to the back near the surgical suites where Ratchet waited for them. Standing next to him were two conspicuously grinning black and white mechs. Smokescreen caught sight of his brother and stormed across the room to sock the younger mech in the pauldron.

"You insufferable slagger! I have been looking for you for half an orn! Where have you been?! You said 'meet you in your office, we'll straighten all this out', but were you there? No! What do slaggin' have to say for yourself?"

Prowl absorbed the blow with good humor and wrapped an arm around his enraged brother. "Smokescreen, Ratchet needs to have a word with you and your new bonded before I can help you."

The blue and red Praxian turned sharp optics on the CMO. "What's the fragging problem now?"

A swift Wrench of Justice™ took care of his impertinence, then Ratchet began his spiel. "Just before you came in, your brother was apprising me of the situation that has arisen between yourself and Jazz's brother. From Prowl's account, the two of you are showing signs of resonance and that you in particular are not adapting well to the ramifications."

"Resonance is a myth. This slagger just doesn't know how to keep his plates shut when he's overcharged." Smokescreen stonewalled with an expansive gesture toward his 'bonded'.

Ricochet puffed up in obvious anger, then deflated with a horrible whimpering sound and began crying. Jazz flashed over to his distraught brother and pulled him into a protective hug.

"Ya take tha back right now, or Ah'll make ya wish ya had." The saboteur threatened.

Smokescreen for his part, looked like he might actually be feeling bad for maintaining his offensive attitude, but then he bolstered.

"I shouldn't have to accept a bond I don't want just because medical science says it's natural! I don't want him! I was getting ready to court Blaster for slag's sake! And now I can't have him because I'm bonded to your brother! It's not fair that I have to give up having a choice in who my bonded will be all for a slagging resonance! And yes, I do know it's not fair of me to blame him for what neither of us could control, but surely he can't be thrilled by the prospect of being bound to a complete stranger either!" Smokescreen cried petulantly.

Ratchet looked at him oddly. "You still want Blaster?"

"Yes! I, Smokescreen of Praxus, want Blaster of Polyhex. I like him, we're good friends. I like his littles and sometimes catch myself thinking of what it would be like if they were my littles too!"

"No, I mean, do you still want him _now_. Do you still feel desire for him despite having a resonance bond in place?"

Smokescreen stopped and considered how serious the doctor seemed to be taking this. "Well yeah, I get upset just thinking about not being able to have him now."

Ratchet looked him over and then looked at Ricochet. "And how do you feel about having a third in your bond?"

The Polyhexian, who had a much better grasp of the intricacies of resonance, managed to think about it calmly despite his tears, then answered shakily. "Ah admit ta feelin' like there's somethin' still missin' in our bond. Dunno why, Ah always heard that a resonance bond was supposed ta be ya end-all be-all."

Ratchet nodded. "Interesting, I wonder if that is because you are Praxian, Smokescreen?"

The diversionary tactician blinked at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Praxians are descended of Vosians, ground-based information collection models to complement their flighted brothers. Both frame types have the innate desire to form triadic bonds called trines…"

"Yes Ratchet, I know my own frametype, get to the point." Smokescreen objected dryly.

The Wrench of Justice™ was applied again. "As I was saying, due to lack of open communication between the Praxian, Vosian, and Iaconian medical communities, which is the fault of the isolationist attitudes of recent millennia, there are no properly documented cases of Praxian or Vosian resonants. There are mentions in the records of resonants, but nothing concerning whether they were pair-bonded mecha only, or if mate-trines still formed despite the resonance. Your continued feelings for Blaster would be the first truly documented case."

Smokescreen's optics narrowed. "And that means…?"

"It means, that your petulant sparkling act, abusive language, and demeaning attitude toward your new bondmate was not only unnecessary, but fundamentally, criminally selfish and cruel. You _could_ have acted like a mature mechanism, approached this from an open standpoint and possibly had _both_ mecha as bondeds. Now, you'll be lucky to keep the one you technically already have!" Ratchet finished him off with a pointed glance toward the retreating set of Polyhexian twins.

Smokescreen got up from the berth he had perched against and started to move towards them, but a loud hiss from the black and white Poly stopped him in his tracks. "No, ya not gettin' another opportunity ta do damage ta mah bro. Ya stayin' RIGHT there n' stayin' _away_ from him until ya get yaself sorted. Ya his _resonant_ , tha mech whose 'sposed ta be his champion, his greatest love, n' ya done nuttin' but spit vitriol at him. YOU. STAY. AWAY."

Smokescreen folded in a bit on himself. He could feel the waves of devastation through the bond and knew that Ricochet was barely holding himself together, and only because he was in a public place surrounded by unknown mecha. It should have been him comforting the black and gold Polyhexian, not Jazz. Slaggit!, Ricochet should not even have anything to be hurt about in the first place! But, Smokescreen could not pull his helm out of his own aft long enough to see what he had been doing until it was too late.

He let the pair leave and felt that he deserved being abandoned for what he had done.


End file.
